


Life After Death

by ryulabird



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Coffee, Dying Will Flames, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, Flame Lore (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!), Gen, Italian Mafia, M/M, Master of Death Harry Potter, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Other Fandoms Not Mentioned in Tags, Past Relationship(s), Slow Build, Slow To Update, Unreliable Narrator, World Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2018-07-21 20:21:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7402507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryulabird/pseuds/ryulabird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once, Harry died in a forest, and that was the start of all his troubles. Not Voldemort, not the Dursleys.<br/>Just dying... and then choosing to get up again.</p><p>Harry goes on an extended holiday to forget everything, but finds his relaxation interrupted again and again by a smooth talking, stylishly dressed stranger. No matter where he goes he keeps running into the man in the black suit, and while Harry knows he shouldn't, some part of him can't help but enjoy the man's company. Especially when the world is so cold and dark when he's not around...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cafe Holiday

☀️

☀️☀️☀️

☀️

 

 

Innsbruck was an interesting place, in Harry's opinion, definitely not like any of the places he'd visited before. It was lucky then, that he'd finally left Britain in February, just after the Olympic Games had ended, otherwise he might not have bothered traveling to such an isolated city. Already he'd been congratulated by several residents who thought visiting after the Games had finished, when all the horrible crowds had left and returned the place to its more peaceful state, was a brilliant move on his part.

 

The fact that he was believed to be one of the profitable annual skiers the town had been hoping wouldn’t be driven away by the Games crowds, and that he was a quiet sort of person himself, didn’t hurt either. Because he'd also heard a number of locals complaining about the over-excessive crowds and how much they wished all the Games drunks and stragglers would just go away.

 

He couldn't imagine how overwhelming it must have been during the actual Games, streets crowded over their intended capacity, snow trampled into mud everywhere, and the cheers echoing off every building and mountain until the noise drove you mad. He'd heard plenty of horror stories from the frazzled locals, cleaning up and settling back into their normal lives, and the leisurely pace they seemed accustomed to suited Harry perfectly. But whatever, Innsbruck was still an interesting place, and Harry was glad he'd come.

 

So, for about a week, Harry would stroll along the Inn River, admiring the colorful buildings, and stopping at what was quickly becoming his favorite cafe in possibly all Europe, mainly because--in the dead of winter--it served up hot chocolate with an espresso shot, outside where Harry could sit by a fire, wrapped in furs. Not a lot of cafes served anything outside in winter, or had such soft, warm fur on hand for its customers. Though, considering its location in the Alps, it made sense for the cafe to be prepared to continue on with business no matter the weather.

 

Harry’s appreciation for a hot drink in cold snow and warm fur was shared by at least one other tourist staying in the wintry city while most others left. Every day that week since Harry first found the little cafe with its fire pit and fur covered chairs, one other man had brought his own drink outside to wrap up and sit across from him until Harry finished his cocoa and left. Every day, he showed up, placed his order and went back out to claim a spot by the fire, and by the time his drink was brought out, that man would be settled across from him with a cup cradled in his hands.

 

Harry wasn't sure whether the man actually liked being outside, because the first two days he had seen the man seated inside the cafe, straight black suit, shiny black shoes, and a black fedora tilted low over his brow. The man had been lounging at a small table near the back and watching everyone who came in.

 

That first time, Harry had unintentionally met the man’s eyes and found himself frozen, feeling as if he’d accidentally met the gaze of a tiger. It was actually the reason Harry had taken his drink right back outside and sat down at the fire pit. The fact that the arrangement turned out to be so enjoyable was merely a stroke of luck.

 

The next day, he saw the man again, sitting forward and watching the door when Harry came in. He’d carefully avoided looking at the man, ordered his drink as quickly as he could, and when Harry went outside again, the man followed. Harry had just made himself comfortable under one of the white fur blankets, when the man sat down across the pit and wrapped a dark brown fur around his shoulders. Harry had blinked at him in surprise, and the man had raised his cup with a smirk, then sat back and stared into the fire, and that had been it.

 

The man joined Harry every day since, but never spoke to him, and Harry did his best to ignore him. It was weird, but Harry figured maybe the man just hadn’t considered sitting outside in the snow with a fur, and, once he’d tried it, had decided he liked it just as Harry had.

 

Or at least, that was what Harry convinced himself had happened. After six days sitting across from the silent man, Harry was finally forced to acknowledge that _he_ was the only reason the man was outside.

 

Harry was sipping the last bit of his hot chocolate, and wondered if he should get another just so he could sit by the fire, under the fur, a little longer, when the man in the black suit finally did speak to him.

 

“So why is it always a mocaccino?” the man asked as he sat forward and placed his cup on the edge of the fire-pit. “Do you not like coffee?”

 

“Without chocolate?” Harry said, too startled to even think about not replying. “Nope. Too bitter for me.” He kept his cup in his hands and watched the man questioningly. After six days of silence, he was unprepared for anything the man might have said, nevermind questioning his preferred drink.

 

“Hmm,” the man smirked. “Maybe you need to develop your palate more. A good espresso is too flavorful to be described as bitter.”

 

“I suppose, but I still prefer it with chocolate.”

 

“Cute.” The man leaned back in his chair to stare at Harry from under the brim of his hat.

 

Harry flushed. “Excuse me?”

 

“You prefer sweet things,” the man said with another smirk. “Cute.”

 

Harry stared at him for a minute, rather taken aback, then frowned. “Right, well, not that it’s any of your business,” he said as he got up. He turned to let the fur fall into the chair. When he turned around, the man had also stood up, leaving his fur behind, and somehow not shivering in his black suit even as tiny snowflakes dusted his shoulders.

 

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” the man said. He stared at Harry intently, like he did that first day when Harry met his gaze and all but fled.

 

Harry realized suddenly, that every day the man had sat across from him, he hadn’t once looked up at him, keeping his eyes on the fire. Maybe the man knew how intimidating his gaze was. If Harry had had to sit under such intense scrutiny, he might have stopped coming to the cafe at all.

 

“It’s still not any of your business what I like to drink,” Harry said with a frown.

 

“I was just trying to make conversation.”

 

“After a week of silence?” Harry asked incredulously.

 

The man’s gaze grew hotter. “Did you want me to speak to you?”

 

“I--,” Harry blinked. “No! I mean--I don’t even know you.”

 

“Could I talk to you tomorrow?” the man asked instead. He lowered his chin, so Harry couldn’t quite meet his eyes under the man’s hat brim, but he could still feel them burning on his skin.

 

“I might not be here tomorrow,” Harry said hesitantly.

 

“Where might you be?”

 

“I donno. I might leave.”

 

The man didn’t say anything for a long minute, the shadow under his hat completely cutting off his eyes until Harry wasn’t even sure they were open. He was about to walk away, feeling the long pause was getting too awkward, when the man called out to him softly.

 

“Do I bother you?”

 

“What?” Harry turned to him with a confused look. “Er… no?”

 

“But you don’t want me to talk to you,” the man said stiffly.

 

“No--I just don’t understand why you are now,” Harry said quickly. “You didn’t this whole week, I just… why do you want to talk to me?”

 

The man looked up at him, his face expressionless and Harry felt a shiver go down his spine. Then a smirk curled the edge of his lips, but for some reason that expression worried Harry more than the blank look had.

 

“You’re cute, who wouldn’t want to talk to you?” The man straightened so his hips thrust out and brought his hands up to hook elegantly from his pockets. He stared at Harry with such heat that it seemed to overtake the fire-pit between them, brushing against Harry’s skin and making him blush.

 

“I--you!” Harry stepped back. He knew he was stuttering like a schoolboy, but dear Merlin, it had been a while since anyone flirted with him so shamelessly! He really hadn’t been expecting an encounter like this in such a quiet town. “If you only want to talk to me for _that_ , then I liked you better when you were silent!”

 

“Oh?” The man tilted his head, eyes glinting. “But it doesn’t bother you?”

 

“I just said--!” he started, but the man stepped forward so quickly, Harry didn’t have time to do more than blink before the man stopped right in front of him. The man was now between Harry and the fire pit, but Harry thought that his shivers were more a reaction to the man’s face leaning down toward him, narrowed eyes dark and intent, than from the loss of heat.

 

“No, _I_ don’t bother you,” the man said lowly. “You’re embarrassed, but it doesn’t really bother you for me to talk to you like this.” He straightened, gazing down at Harry with a contemplative look while Harry spluttered. “If I’d talked to you from the beginning, would you like me now?”

 

“What!” Harry’s eyes widened. This man was incredible. It wasn’t just that Innsbruck had been so relaxed during his visit, it was that Harry had been left alone for so long, he’d stopped expecting anyone to take notice of him like this. “I--you… you’re very forward, aren’t you?” he said faintly.

 

The man grinned suddenly. “You like it.”

 

“No I don’t!” Harry argued reflexively.

 

“You do,” the man said firmly. He was strangely satisfied by this, and Harry’s reaction--to simply shake his head in a kind of dazed wonderment--only made him more smug. “So, would you like me to talk to you tomorrow?” he asked, smirk now bearing a warmth that went straight through Harry’s chest and down to his toes.

 

“I--I won’t be here tomorrow,” Harry said stiffly. He looked to the side, staring out at the snowy street, so he missed it when the man’s smirk fell away and a chillingly blank expression came over his face.

 

“Because I talked to you,” the man said flatly. Harry barely stopped himself from flinching at the empty tone the man used.

 

“No, I just… I’ve just been here too long,” Harry said slowly. He glanced briefly at the man’s face and did flinch, not because he was frightened, but because he realized that somehow he’d hurt the man’s feelings and he had no idea why. “I just...wanted to see more, and I’ve been here a week already, so that’s long enough, and there’s other places I wanted to go, and--”

 

“What other places?” the man interrupted.

 

“Oh, er… I don’t--uh, Switzerland, I guess?” Harry threw out. He never planned where he went--case in point, Innsbruck had been a spur of the moment decision because of all the news coverage about the Olympics. Where he went next was likely to be chosen based on whatever caught his attention while he packed. “Maybe Brazil?”

 

The man raised an eyebrow. “Switzerland or Brazil, huh?” He looked away, glancing at the cafe and up at the sky.

 

“Finland’s probably really nice this time of year…”

 

“In the dead of winter?” The man looked back down at him, face stiff and empty. “Finland?”

 

Harry winced. “Look, I don’t know what you expect from me, but I just--I don’t stick around, alright?”

 

“You think I expect you to stick around?” the man said with a smirk, but there was something sharp about it, different from before. “Just for me, huh?”

 

Harry had sure messed this up. All he wanted was to try and let the guy down gently, because it was true--he didn’t stay, not for anyone. A one night stand was fun, but every person Harry had ever been with seemed to want longer, _more_ , and Harry couldn’t give it to them. He always left, so he’d learned to run before anything started. It usually worked just fine, most people didn’t have time to get attached if he vanished after one meeting. But the man in the black suit seemed to have become attached after just one week of sitting silently near him for an hour each day.

 

“I’m not a good person to get close to,” Harry said softly. He really didn’t want to hurt the man, even knowing nothing about him, he’d still been alright company for all he never said anything. Harry wondered if it would have been easier for them both if the man had tried to talk to him from the start.

 

He wondered why the man had waited so long, if he was interested. He didn’t seem like the shy sort.

 

“Oh?” The man smirked again, smoother but still with an edge. “I’m not the best sort to get close to either.”

 

Harry didn’t know what to say to that.

 

“Tell me something,” the man said suddenly. “If I’d spoken to you that first day, would you have let me, or would you have run away to Switzerland?”

 

Harry blinked. Well. There wasn’t any good way for him to answer that.

 

“I’m really better off alone,” he insisted. “It’s nothing against you, I just don’t do well with people.”

 

“Alone?” the man asked, incredulous. He seemed honestly surprised, confused even, as if that was the last thing he expected Harry to say. “ _You?_ ”

 

“Yeah. Is there something strange about that?” Harry titled his head, trying to figure out why this seemed to upset the man more than saying he was leaving town had.

 

The man stared at him, long enough that Harry began to shuffle his feet nervously.

 

“Who made you think you needed to be alone?” the man snarled the question, startling after the long silence.

 

“Wha--no one!” Harry’s spine snapped straight at the accusation. “What business is that of yours?”

 

The man snorted derisively. “Whoever it was--they’re an idiot--”

 

“I told you-- _no one!_ ”

 

“--you shouldn’t be running scared from anyone who approaches you for a chat!” the man finished with a glare.

 

“I am not scared!” Harry said indignantly. “And _no one_ made me believe anything of the sort! _I_ decided I was better off this way!”

 

The man made a noise of disgust. “You just _decided_ , without any outside influence, that you were better off running to another country anytime someone tried to talk with you?”

 

Harry flushed. Put like that, it sounded fairly crazy. But it wasn’t exactly inaccurate.

 

“So what happened?” the man asked quietly, eyes glinting from beneath the hat brim. “Someone wouldn’t leave you alone? Wouldn’t take no for an answer? Chased you? Tried to chain you down?”

 

“That--” Harry swallowed. This man really was incredible. He hadn’t quite figured everything out, but he guessed some of it, and that was more than Harry wanted anyone to know. “That isn’t any of your business.”

 

They both fell silent then, the man titled his head down, hand brought up to clutch tightly at the brim of his hat and eyes shadowed. Harry turned away to take his cup inside.

 

“I’m sorry,” was said quietly behind him. Harry sniffed and nodded over his shoulder before continuing.

 

When he came back out of the cafe, the man was still standing there, gazing at him almost wistfully.

 

“If I ever see you again, would you let me talk with you?” he asked.

 

Harry frowned. He doubted that would ever happen. “Sure.”

 

“I won’t try to trap you,” the man said suddenly. “I won’t ask for any more than you’re willing to give.”

 

Harry’s eyes widened at the intensity of the man’s promise, his eyes boring into Harry’s and pinning him in place. He couldn’t bring himself to do more than nod. The man nodded in return, then turned and strode away. Harry stared after him, fighting a sudden urge to call after him, reach for him, follow, and cling, and _beg_ the man not to leave.

 

Harry forced his eyes down to the icy cobbles at his feet and breathed out harshly. He was panting like he’d been running and hadn’t had a chance to catch his breath. There was a sharp pressure in his chest, as if an iron spike had lodged itself between his ribs to poke at his lungs.

 

 _Where had that come from?_ He didn’t even know the man’s name!

 

Harry definitely needed to go somewhere new. Somewhere far. Maybe somewhere warmer…. Spain. He’d always wanted to see the Alhambra.

 

☀️☀️☀️

 

It wasn’t as warm in Spain as Harry had thought it would be. Still warmer than Austria, but cold enough to keep his coat, and colder still when it rained, though thankfully that didn’t seem to be often. It was also...not what he thought it would be. Which was good, honestly. Harry preferred it when places were different than he expected--it kept everything new and exciting.

 

Granted, he’d never been to this Granada, so it didn’t matter that the city seemed so different to him than what he thought it should be. Just, everything was smaller somehow, darker maybe? Like there was less light, or everything was closer to the ground than it should be. Fewer buildings definitely. Older.

 

All of which was ridiculous, because the city was crowded with shops and cars and people; it sprawled all over the hills, so much so a person could get lost with one wrong turn. But he couldn’t get rid of the feeling because… everything _was_ smaller, darker, lower, and just all around _less_ than what Harry expected. Less than what he remembered.

 

And that too was good, because Harry was trying to forget, and he couldn’t do that if he was constantly reminded of the way things were. Though he did think it was a little unfair that, even feeling smaller, Granada was still so easy to get lost in.

 

Another thing that surprised Harry, but pleasantly, was the absence of tourists in what he had believed was a prime tourist spot. Of course, the Alhambra _was_ a huge tourist destination--in the summer. In winter, apparently everyone went skiing, which, frankly, if Harry wasn’t going to throw himself down a snowy mountain in the Alps, he wasn’t doing it in the Sierra Nevadas either.

 

So Harry once again found himself in a city that should have been much louder and wilder, but was instead peaceful and quiet. Exactly what he needed.

 

He began another daily routine of solitude that suited him perfectly. In the morning he walked up the mountain to buy a ticket into the Alhambra, and wandered the decorative courtyards and out of season gardens. Then he walked back down the mountain to one of dozens of little eateries for lunch, and afterward he strolled through the city, getting lost until some helpful local pointed him toward his hotel. There he’d eat dinner, retire to his room for the night, and in the morning he started all over again.

 

The first week of this, Harry was tired and anxious, probably from getting lost so often. But after a while, he relaxed totally, and decided that getting lost was a wonderful way to learn the streets of a new city. It was so enjoyable, in fact, that after a second week of blissfully wandering around the winding streets, Harry wondered if he should try living there.

 

Of course that meant it was too good to last.

 

Harry had just settled into a new sandwich place for lunch and was reading the menu on a wall, when someone sat down across the little table from him.

 

“Well, isn’t this a nice surprise.”

 

Harry blinked. The man in the black suit and hat from Innsbruck gave a pleased smirk and leaned back against the wall, propping an arm over his chair back.

 

“You!” Harry gasped out. The other diners turned to look at them. Harry blushed and leaned forward to continue more quietly. “What are you doing here?”

 

“I’m on business,” he said as he raised a long arm to gesture a waitress over. He cocked an eyebrow at Harry. “What about you? Was Finland too cold?”

 

Harry frowned but didn’t answer as the waitress came over and flirtatiously asked them what they would like. She barely glanced at Harry, clearly more taken with the suited man’s charming smile.

 

“Café solo and the day’s menu,” the man said, not even looking at her.

 

“Uh, water and a ham bocadillo,” Harry requested.

 

The woman was obviously trying to catch the man’s attention, but he didn’t look away from Harry and eventually she left. Harry shook his head and regarded the man curiously.

 

“So what business do you have here?” he asked.

 

“You really want to know?”

 

Harry shrugged. “Just trying to make conversation.”

 

“Oh?” The man lifted an elbow to the table and leaned his head on his hand. The other arm stayed draped over the chair back, so his torso twisted and pulled at the fabric of his jacket, revealing a soft yellow shirt underneath. “So you want to talk to me now?”

 

“I said I would if we met again,” Harry said with a frown. Admittedly, he hadn’t thought he would ever have to keep that promise, but that didn’t mean he was going to break it.

 

The man regarded him seriously for a moment, then smirked. He turned around in the chair and held his hand out. “I don’t think we ever properly introduced ourselves. Renato Sinclair.”

 

Harry took the man’s hand hesitantly. “Harry Potter.”

 

“You’re English?” the man, Sinclair asked. He held onto Harry’s hand, and his thumb stroked over Harry’s fingers, making him flush and pull away before anyone saw. Sinclair let him go with a pleased smirk.

 

“Is there something wrong with that?” Harry asked in annoyance.

 

Sinclair shrugged placidly. “Your accents’ are very good. Your German was perfect, and you even _‘e’_ and _‘este’_ in Spanish.”

 

Harry blinked. He’d learned a number of languages, both magical and muggle, over the years, but translation spells made it so much easier to become fluent that he didn’t even think about the language he used, so long as it matched up with the locals.

 

“I wonder, do you speak Italian just as well?” Sinclair asked. His eyes were lidded over curved lips, and Harry had the feeling he was being played with.

 

“ _Non son degno di te, e va bene così_ ,” Sinclair whispered, so low Harry could barely hear him.

 

“What?” he asked, but Sinclair only smiled softly and leaned back, because the waitress was there. She placed a cup of coffee and a plate of salad in front of him. Harry also sat back, frowning, so she could put a glass of water and a sandwich on a plate before him.

 

“Is there anything else I can get you?” she asked, once more staring adoringly Sinclair.

 

Sinclair turned to her for the first time and smiled widely. The affect on the waitress was immediate.

 

“Do you have any desserts with chocolate?” he asked her.

 

“Oh, yes!” The woman was smiling excitedly back at him. “Would you like that instead of the crema catalana?”

 

“Please.” He smiled up at her again, then turned back to Harry, dismissing her. Harry watched her sigh happily and wander off to another table. “Is something wrong?”

 

Harry turned back to Sinclair. “No, nothing,” he said and he looked down at his food with a frown before picking it up.

 

They started eating, and though Harry expected to catch the man looking at him, Sinclair stayed focused on his food, while he ended up being the one sneaking glances. Before Harry had finished eating, the waitress had brought out Sinclair’s main dish of meat cuts in a spicy smelling sauce.

 

“Would you bring the dessert out now?” Sinclair asked the waitress before she left.

 

“Oh, yes, of course!” The woman smiled at him and brushed his shoulder with her hand as she passed.

 

Harry frowned after her while Sinclair watched him.

 

“Do you want me to stop talking to her?” he asked.

 

“No, why would I?” Harry turned to frown at him.

 

“It’s only a little flirting, but if you’d rather I stopped..?”

 

“I don’t care who you flirt with,” Harry said in annoyance.

 

Sinclair smirked and raised an eyebrow. “If it did bother you, I could stop.”

 

Harry glared. “Do whatever you want.”

 

“Alright,” he said, smirk curling into a smile.

 

Harry sat back, but didn’t have a chance to say any more because the waitress was back with Sinclair’s dessert. He ignored the waitress this time, until she walked away with a few hopeful glances that made Harry glare at his table mate.

 

Sinclair raised an eyebrow at him and slid the plate with a slice of chocolate cake over to him. Harry looked at it in confusion.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“Whatever I want,” Sinclair said softly.

 

Harry frowned at him and looked back down at the cake.

 

“I’d think you’d be a little happier. Don’t you like chocolate?”

 

“I’m not taking your dessert, and I still don’t understand why you’re doing this,” Harry said in frustration.

 

“You said to do what I like, and I like you,” Sinclair said, and he looked down at his plate and started eating. Harry stared at him, but the man refused to lift his gaze at all.

 

“I-I’m not staying, you know,” Harry whispered.

 

“I know,” Sinclair said between bites. He took a long sip of his coffee before looking up. “This is enough.”

 

Harry couldn’t say anything to that, and simply stared at the cake unhappily. It smelled really good too.

 

“So, where are you off to next?”

 

“Don’t know,” Harry said with a shrug. It didn’t really matter, so long as it was away from here.

 

“Well...I hope you find someplace nice.”

 

“Yeah, thanks.” Harry sighed. He stood and pulled a couple hundred notes out of his pocket, leaving them on the table.

 

“You don’t have to leave now,” Sinclair said, staring at the table.

 

“I really do,” Harry said. He turned and left, not seeing the way Sinclair looked up and watched him walk away, eyes glinting under the shadow of his hat brim.

 

As soon as Harry got to his room, he packed his few possessions up and was gone. An hour later he was wandering down a street in Amsterdam, heavy coat on again and looking for a decent hotel.

 

⛅️⛅️⛅️

 

The first week in Amsterdam, Harry was jittery and snappish. He didn’t have the excuse of getting lost like in Granada, because it was too cold for Harry to wander aimlessly, so he toured the city mainly along the electric car lines. He began to think that heading north was a bad idea, because every day he had worse and worse headaches, until he couldn’t even leave his room. When the hotel sent someone to check on him, he all but bit the poor woman’s head off, he was in such a foul mood from the pain.

 

After five days of this, Harry was thinking he should go back to Granada, or maybe southern Italy--anywhere warmer, if it would help--when he woke up the sixth day perfectly fine. His head no longer throbbed or ached, and he felt very well rested and almost pleasant. When he went down for breakfast he made a point of apologizing to the hotel manager and the timid maid he’d chased off before.

 

Everything seemed much brighter and more colorful, and he went out to explore the city via the frozen canals rather than the streets; which he’d wanted to do when he came, but had seemed far too exhausting over the past week when his head felt stuffed with rocks and cotton.

 

In fact, after a couple days of skating up and down the canals, Harry decided that Amsterdam was one of the nicest cities he’d ever been to. There were a lot more cars and fewer bicycles than he thought there would be, but he put that down to the frigid air. Winter was lasting much longer than usual, temperatures staying well below freezing and keeping the canals rock solid.

 

Which was lucky for him, but he could tell the locals were anxious for spring to hurry up.

 

Harry was skating up and down the Keizersgracht canal, enjoying the crisp air and blue skies, when he saw none other than Renato Sinclair skating toward him.

 

“Oh no,” he said under his breath.

 

“Well, Mr. Potter,” Sinclair smirked at him as he slid to a stop, hands leisurely hanging from his coat pockets and posture relaxed even balanced on skates. “Do you prefer snowy weather by any chance?”

 

“No, Mr. Sinclair, I’m afraid I don’t.” Harry crossed his arms to regard the man in his black wool coat, black suit pants peaking out from the hem, and black hat rakishly tilted over his brow. “I suppose you’re on business here as well?”

 

Sinclair shrugged with a crooked smile. “I have business all over Europe.”

 

“Yet I never seem to catch you at work.”

 

“I hope you never do,” Sinclair reached up to pull his hat low, smirk turning sharp. “It wouldn’t be nearly as fun.”

 

“Fun, huh?”

 

Sinclair looked around at the people skating past them, some twirling and circling around slower skaters. He looked back at Harry with a raised eyebrow. “Isn’t that why you came out here?”

 

Harry huffed. “Well I didn’t think I’d see you here.”

 

“If you don’t want to see me again, just say so and I’ll stay away.”

 

Harry looked at the man in surprise. His hand was still holding the edge of his hat, shadowing his eyes, and his smirk had vanished. He really would leave if Harry asked him to, and they probably wouldn’t have anymore ‘accidental’ run-ins either.

 

Harry glanced away and remained silent. Sinclair waited a few moments more, holding his breath, then he let out a soft sigh and lowered his arm.

 

“Well,” he said.

 

“Why do I keep running into you?” Harry muttered, still watching other skaters glide past them.

 

Sinclair hummed absently, and slid closer, hiding the movement by turning to watch the busy canal as well. They stood there, slowly swaying and shifting gently on their skates, before Sinclair spoke again.

 

“ _Ti va da andare a prendere un caffè?_ ” His voice was low and warm, and Harry shivered to hear it so close over the noise of slick ice and rushing cries.

 

“Do you drink anything other than coffee?” Harry asked.

 

“I’m hoping to help you improve your palate,” Sinclair said with a smirk.

 

“You’re not going to do it with coffee,” Harry replied. “I still think it’s too bitter.”

 

“If you want some chocolate to sweeten it, I won’t stop you.”

 

Harry sighed. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

 

Sinclair turned into him, warmth seeping through their coats even though Harry thought they were too thick for that. “Tell me all about it over coffee. I owe you cake.”

 

Harry shouldn't be encouraging this, he should leave before Sinclair started to think he had any sort of chance with him. But… They had met three times now. That was supposed to be lucky, and Harry was in such a good mood. He didn’t want to ruin it by running.

 

“Alright then,” Harry said before he could change his mind. “But I don’t know where any cafes are near here.”

 

“I do.” Sinclair leaned down, all that marvelous warmth pouring into Harry and making him sigh. He let the man touch his arm and guide him along the canal to a stair. What was he thinking?

 

⛅️⛅️⛅️

 

Harry enjoyed having coffee with Sinclair. Enough so that he did it twice. There was just something irresistible about the man. Harry thought it might be how warm he was, his presence, his voice, his eyes when he looked at him. In the cold air of a late winter, that kind of warmth drew Harry in like a cat to a sun soaked stone.

 

Which was why Harry left immediately after their second coffee date. He went straight to his hotel, packed up, checked out, and went to a bookstore. There he opened a map brochure and picked a random spot with his eyes closed. Then he strode off to an empty alley and apparated to Geneva.


	2. Wrong Place

 

☀️

☀️☀️☀️

☀️

 

Geneva was both colder and warmer than Amsterdam, a weird impression of weather that was simply too different to adjust to in a day. It was colder because, thanks to the lake, it rained almost everyday in spring. But still warmer, because, temperature wise, it was above freezing. So snow was melting everywhere, but Harry huddled miserably in his coat because every time he went out there was a sudden downpour.

 

Even worse though, was that Harry had been to Geneva before, many times. The International Confederacy of Wizards had used the city as its traditional meeting grounds for centuries, so every five years, Harry would travel with the British Ministry’s party, and he, and sometimes his family, would stay in the city for a couple weeks. He had a lot of happy memories of Geneva.

 

He never should have come here.

 

If he’d been thinking straight back in Amsterdam, he would have ‘randomly’ selected a different place the moment his finger landed on this city. But all he was thinking of was getting away--before he walked back to Renato Sinclair and asked where he was staying.

 

He almost regretted not doing exactly that, because Geneva was absolutely horrid. Nothing was quite right. The buildings, the streets, were _so_ familiar, but everywhere he looked the cars were too old, the clothing was _wrong_. He couldn’t find the broken chair, there wasn’t enough glass or lights or signs, but more bicycles than there should be.

 

It gave him a headache, because he would look for familiar places, but then something strange would catch his attention and shatter the memory before it could form. For days he wandered the city in a hazy absent-mindedness, seeking out memories and turning away from them all in frustration when a car drove by, or a couple under an umbrella walked past. An ache built up in his heart and added to the growing pounding in his head.

 

He would have left, but he spent too long chasing phantoms and ended up, once again, holed up in his room from the pain. Thankfully, he didn’t frighten any maids, because he’d asked specifically to be left alone before the headaches got too bad. It had passed last time, so hopefully he only needed to wait it out this time as well.

 

After two days alone and buried in his bed, Harry finally emerged, starving and in desperate need of a bath, but otherwise in perfect health. A quick call down to the concierge took care of both issues, and later that night Harry sat by the window looking out at the strange, familiar streets of a city he used to love, wondering what was wrong with him.

 

He’d never actually been ill before. Injured, yes, and poisoned, and even possessed. But recurring headaches whenever he traveled somewhere was definitely new. Maybe it was the air? Car exhaust perhaps? There certainly were a lot of cars, and none of them were green or environmentally friendly. But then why did he get better, and so suddenly?

 

Harry had no idea, and he couldn’t see anyone about it either. He had very limited funds that were all intended for travel. He sighed and went back to bed. It was probably some form of stress anyway, so a doctor wouldn't be able to help. Not that any of them ever could.

 

The next day, Harry tried to relax and look at Geneva as a new city, and not the one from his memories. It didn’t work so well.

 

The problem was, even though Geneva was always a modern city, it was also always an old one. It was the sort of city where the stone stayed the same, only the veneer of people and cars and shop fronts really changed. That was one of the reasons wizards had liked it so much. Harry had too, once upon a time.

 

He ended up staying in his room, just watching the city from his window, pretending it was only the rain that made him hide. He knew he should leave, but he didn’t want to. Not yet. Because, even though the memories were still painful, the thought of more headaches was worse.

 

No, he’d leave only when he really couldn’t bare it there any longer.

 

So that was why, instead of touring Cairo or Bombay as he should have been, Harry was at a pub near his hotel. He had finally been chased out of his room by the cleaning staff, who were still amusedly confused by his long stint alone. It was alright though, because the pub had fairly good tapas and beer for dinner, and they’d even propped a television on the bar so everyone could watch Eurovision.

 

That was where Renato Sinclair found him again.

 

“Aren’t there a thousand pubs in Geneva?” Harry asked rethorically, not even glancing away from the German singer on the far off screen.

 

“There might be,” Sinclair said as he pulled an empty chair away from another table and shoved it in the corner next to Harry. The man he pushed out of the way to get the chair into the corner didn’t argue too hard when Sinclair smirked at him as he sat down.

 

“Then why are you in this one?”

 

“It’s the only one with free seats left,” Sinclair leaned back and draped an arm over the back of Harry’s chair, wedged between the wall and Harry’s back.

 

“That seat wasn’t free.” Harry nodded at the table Sinclair took the chair from, where a man had come back from the bar and was being pointed over to them by his friends at the table. He looked pretty angry.

 

Sinclair smirked lazily at the man, who blanched. He and his friends quickly left for the other side of the pub and another group soon moved in to claim the table.

 

“Seems it was,” Sinclair said smugly, stealing Harry’s drink and taking a sip.

 

Harry shook his head. “Utterly impossible,” he muttered.

 

“You like it,” Sinclair said as he returned the glass to the table, only to steal a bite of Harry’s food with his fork. Harry elbowed him when he reached for his beer again.

“So what business brings you to Geneva?”

 

“Still trying to make conversation?”

 

Harry frowned. “I thought the whole reason you came to me was for conversation.”

 

“I don’t like to mix business with pleasure,” Sinclair said with a shrug. “I’d prefer to talk about you.”

 

Harry felt his face grow hot and turned back to the telly. That was enough alcohol for the night.

 

“How about you? What brought you to the International City?”

 

“Poor planning.”

 

“Oh?” Sinclair looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “Geneva’s not to your liking?”

 

“Not particularly,” Harry said shortly.

 

Harry could feel Sinclair staring at him for a long minute before he turned back to the focus of everyone’s attention.

 

“So, any favorite’s yet?” he asked casually.

 

“Not really, they’ve all been pretty bland,” Harry said with a shrug.

 

“Really? Has Britain gone on already?” Sinclair asked with a smirk.

 

“Ha, bloody ha,” Harry said as he rolled his eyes. “It would be funnier if the British song had been any good.”

 

“That bad?” Sinclair asked with a raised eyebrow. His hand was still draped over the back of Harry’s chair, and his thumb had started rubbing a circle in Harry’s shoulder.

 

“Boring. All of them are dull love songs, and _‘little things,’”_ Harry stressed the words with mild disgust, “was the _worst_.”

 

“Well, you have a bit of excitement to look forward to--Italy will be up soon.”

 

“Do you think it’ll be another love song?” Harry asked. He shivered when Sinclair’s thumb rose up to his neck.

 

“Are there any other songs worth singing?” Sinclair asked in return, leaning over him to pick up the last bit of Harry’s dinner. He probably could have done so without pressing quite so firmly into Harry’s side, but Harry enjoyed the warmth too much to say so.

 

“So, that’s a yes then,” Harry said with a sigh.

 

“Do you dislike love songs?” Sinclair looked at him speculatively.

 

“Not in general, I’ve just heard better songs on the radio than I’ve heard on the contest so far.”

 

“Which songs?” Sinclair asked with a smile.

 

Harry frowned at him. “Why do you want to know?”

 

Sinclair shrugged, letting the arm around Harry’s chair raise up, around _Harry_ , and leaned in to speak softly in his ear. “I told you--I’d prefer to talk about you.”

 

Harry froze, blushed, and blew out a sputtering breath. _“We’re in public!”_ he hissed as quietly as he could, looking around frantically. Thankfully, everyone’s attention was on the Portugese singer begging God for forgiveness for hurting his _amor_.

 

“ _Nessuno sta guardando_ ,” Sinclair whispered. His hand stroked up and down Harry’s arm, trying to calm, or comfort, or both, but failing either way because the path of it burned through Harry’s clothes and made his head spin.

 

Harry stood up. “I have to go,” he said as he pulled a liiber out of his pocket and dropped it on the table.

 

“No you don’t,” Sinclair said quietly, hand falling down to grip the back of Harry’s empty chair. He didn't move. Harry was trapped between the table, the wall, and Sinclair.

 

“Please,” Harry said, looking at the table.

 

Sinclair said nothing for a moment, then stood without a word and walked for the door, hands in his pockets and posture stiff. After taking a deep breath, Harry reluctantly followed.

 

Outside Sinclair had lit a cigarette between his lips and was looking at the dark, cloudy sky. Harry tried to sneak past him, but froze when the man spoke up.

 

“Are you afraid of me?” he asked.

 

Harry turned around with a guilty frown. “Not exactly.”

 

Sinclair took a long drag off his cigarette and blew the smoke overhead. “What are you afraid of?”

 

Harry shrugged uncomfortably. “Look, it’s not your fault, I’m just…”

 

“Not good with people?” Sinclair asked, turning toward him. His eyes were barely visible under the dark hat, the glow from the cigarette glittering off them the only indication they were even there. “You could be good with me.”

 

Harry’s eyes widened. “I…”

 

Sinclair stepped closer and Harry flinched. Sinclair stopped and just watched him expressionlessly. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes tightly.

 

“I could be good with you,” he said lowly, looking up at Harry with an unreadable light in his eyes.

 

Harry shook his head slowly and stepped back. “I can’t. I just...can’t.”

 

They stared at each other while strangers passed them on the street, entering and exiting the pub and laughing gaily on their way. Finally, Harry stepped back again, and when Sinclair didn’t speak up, he turned and hurried away, back to his hotel.

 

It was time to find another city.

 

⛅️⛅️⛅️

 

Harry was packed and checked out in about an hour. But instead of looking for a magazine stand or a bookshop for a map, he caught a bus to the central train station. Maybe the headaches were from apparation, so muggle travel shouldn’t result in any pain. The station was crowded and noisy, and Harry got in line for a ticket nervously. He could still feel the heat of Sinclair’s body pressed against him and it was making him dizzy.

 

When it was finally Harry’s turn he asked shortly, “What do you have going out of Switzerland tonight?”

 

“I’m sorry?” The ticket seller’s smile wavered.

 

Harry gave the man a weak grin. “I’m traveling across Europe, and I want to get somewhere new by morning,” he explained.

 

“Eh bien,” the man had a confused smile plastered on his face as he turned to his ledger. “Ah, there is nothing going through the station tonight, but if you would like to transfer at Lausanne, I think you could make le Cisalpin in an hour.”

 

“And where does that go?”

 

“Final stop is Milan.”

 

“And I can get to Lausanne in time to catch the train?”

 

“Yes,” the ticket seller nodded. “The evening train will be leaving in ten minutes and will reach Lausanne in just under forty minutes.”

 

“Alright, I’ll take it,” Harry said.

 

The ticket seller paused, looking at him oddly. “Le Cisalpin is first class only…”

 

“Alright.” Harry took out his wallet.

 

The man looked at him helplessly. “Two tickets and a transfer in Lausanne, that comes to 22 francs and 65 rapper.”

 

Harry handed over the appropriate change and waited for the man to write out his ticket. Several minutes later he was handed a long folded slip of printed cardstock.

 

“Here you are, sir,” the ticket seller flipped the pages open and pointed. “Here is your ticket for the train to Lausanne, you’re in car 4, seat 17. This is your ticket for le Cisalpin, car 3 seat 12, a single. I’m afraid you'll have missed the dinner service, but you may order a drink.”

 

“That’s alright,” Harry said as he looked over the tickets, “I already ate.”

 

“Eh bien,” The man nodded pleasantly at him, still looking a bit worried. “You’ll have two stops, Brig and Domodossola, passport check once you cross the border, and you should be in Milan in about 5 hours. Have a good trip, sir.”

 

“Thank you,” Harry said, as he tucked the tickets in his wallet and put it away. Milan here he comes.

 

⛅️⛅️⛅️

 

The first train was crowded, a daily business route as far as Harry could tell, and he spent most of it staring out at the icy waves of Lake Geneva. The water was turbulent and dark, and he couldn’t even see the other shore. It looked like it was going to rain again.

 

Harry had calmed down by the time the train pulled into Lausanne. He was beginning to think it was silly how panicked he’d been to have run off after just one conversation. Of course, if he _didn't_ like the man, there wouldn’t be a problem.

 

But Renato Sinclair was too attractive, too enthralling, for Harry to let his guard down. There was something shining and warm about him, something that drew Harry’s eye, despite his dark clothes. Just being in his presence was enough for Harry to relax, basking in the warm glow of Sinclair’s charisma.

 

It was dangerous.

 

Harry knew what happened when he got attached to anyone. Just because Sinclair felt good to be around now didn't mean it wouldn’t hurt later. This sort of thing always ended badly, and Harry would have to live with the regrets.

 

So it was better for Harry to just forget about the man’s teasing smirk, his burning eyes, and that warm, hard body under those perfectly tailored suits, pressing against him hotter than the summer sun… Yep. All forgotten. He hoped he never saw Renato Sinclair again.

 

Of course, if Harry had learned anything in his life, it was that he never got what he wanted.

 

In Lausanne, Harry had to run from one platform to another in order to make it to the Cisalpin, and both a blue clad hostess and a porter were waiting to help him aboard the red and cream car. Harry smiled gratefully as his bag was taken away to be stowed and followed the hostess to his seat. The car was very nice, stylish leather red seats and cream carpets, with smooth wood handles on the seat backs. Most of the seats were filled, and Harry was glad he’d got a single, as there was less chance he’d have to sit with anyone.

 

But, as the hostess stopped and gestured him into the correct spot, Harry’s heart jumped and got caught in his throat. All the seats on the train alternated facing each other--on one side, the seats were in pairs facing each other around a table for four, and on the other, the seats were singles facing each other around tables for two. When Harry got to his single seat, across the little table from him was a man in a black suit, liesurely smoking a cigarette and staring out the window.

 

Harry froze, staring at the man, until the hostess gently asked that he sit so the train could depart. Harry moved into the plush chair jerkily, like a puppet being pulled about by string. Renato Sinclair turned to him, eyebrow arched elegantly.

 

“What...what are you doing here?” Harry asked faintly.

 

Sinclair looked at him blankly and took a long drag off the cigarette before answering. “I’m taking the train, what does it look like I’m doing?”

 

“Why this train?” Harry’s voice rose sharply, and he glanced guiltily out the window when some of the passengers looked at him.

 

“It’s going to Italy,” Sinclair said frankly.

 

“So, you’re going home then?” Harry looked at him sideways.

 

Sinclair shrugged and turned back to the window. The train shuddered into motion and started out of the station. Harry glared at the man, then turned to stare out the window as well. There was little he could do now.

 

The window was dark, night fully fallen, and aside from the passing lights of Lausanne as they left it, Harry couldn’t see anything from the train. He should have stayed another night and left in the morning. Then he would have been able to see the mountains, and he would have had more options on where to go, and he would _never_ have run into Sinclair again.

 

“Would you like something to drink?” One of the smartly dressed hostesses was walking down the aisle with a cart, and she startled Harry out of his thoughts.

 

“Oh, uh… do you have coca cola?” he asked.

 

The woman smiled. “Of course!” She reached into her cart and pulled out a stout glass bottle, popped the top off on the corner of her cart, and handed it to him. “And for you, sir?”

 

“Martini, dry,” Sinclair said shortly as he rubbed out the end of his cigarette in the ashtray on the table. She poured his drink in a glass and placed it on a little napkin next to the ashtray before walking further down to serve more passengers.

 

Harry clutched his soda bottle and his eye caught at the sudden rain streaking across the dark window pane. Sinclair plucked his glass up, sat back, taking small sips, and stared across at Harry.

 

“Why do you have to run?” Sinclair asked softly.

 

“Why do you have to chase me?” Harry countered.

 

“Ah.” Sinclair raised a hand to press against his brow. “I said I wouldn't, didn’t I?”

 

Harry took a gulp of the cola instead of answering. He didn’t want to talk about this.

 

“Is that why you’re afraid? Because if you talk to anyone, they chase after you?” Sinclair stared at him, eyes widening as if he realized something. “People you don’t want chase after you, try to get you to stay with them… Am I one of those people?” he asked suddenly, breathless and looking nervous.

 

Harry frowned at him. “That’s not it, there’s nothing wrong with you--”

 

“But you run away every time I get close,” Sinclair interrupted. His eyes were empty when they looked up at him. “Tell me to stay away from you. I’ll do it, if you tell me to.”

 

Harry’s eyes widened at the edge of desperation in Sinclair’s voice. He didn’t know what to say. Even though he was afraid of getting close to anyone, he couldn’t open his mouth to tell Sinclair to leave.

 

“Just tell me that you don’t want me,” Sinclair said quietly. “Just reject me, and this will be over for both of us.”

 

Harry shivered and placed his drink on the table unable to hold Sinclair’s gaze any longer. His throat felt tight and sore suddenly, and it hurt to breathe.

 

“Can’t you say it?”

 

Harry looked down, eyes burning and nausea growing in his stomach. Sinclair just watched him silently, then drank the rest of his martini in one long swallow. He sighed and placed the glass beside Harry’s bottle on the little table.

 

“You can’t?” he whispered. Harry had to strain to hear him over the conversations of the other passengers. “Does that mean you do want me, or am I just fooling myself?”

 

“I can’t stay,” Harry said tightly, the words squeezed out of him.

 

“You say that a lot,” Sinclair muttered. “I’m not asking you to stay, I’m asking to come with you!”

 

“ _Why?_ _"_  Harry gasped out. The passengers across the aisle were staring again and he turned to the window, tried to ignore everything around him. Sinclair glared at them, then leaned forward over the small table.

 

“Because you fill the world with light,” he whispered. Harry pressed his head against the cool glass and closed his eyes tiredly. “Because we’re both lonely, because no matter how much you think you should be alone, you love meeting me. You call out for me to follow you and I love to listen.”

 

Harry was feeling dizzy, Sinclair’s soft words washed over him, smothered him, until he thought he’d break from the pressure. He stood quickly and walked down the aisle, out of the car. He tried to close the door, but a strong hand forced it open and Sinclair stepped through, sliding it shut behind him.

 

“Stop running away!” he snarled. The man’s hat was missing and Harry wondered if it fell off in his rush to reach him.

 

Harry bared his teeth and glared. “Stop chasing me!”

 

“Do you have any idea how impossible that is?” Sinclair ran a hand through his hair in frustration, ruining his carefully slicked back look and tangling it into spikes. “Every time I’m with you, you draw me in like a moth to a flame, and every time you leave I can feel you pulling at me like a chain on my heart!”

 

Harry flinched back, hitting the outside door of the train, when Sinclair gave a half-crazed laugh and covered his face with clenched fists.

 

“And you don’t even know that you’re doing it!” he whispered harshly. “ _This is why ignorant civilains are the worst!_ ” Sinclair lowered his fists to glare at Harry huddled defensively in the corner. “You don’t even realize when you’re driving someone mad!”

 

“Don’t blame me for the way you feel!” Harry hissed furiously. “I can’t control that!”

 

Sinclair blew out a long, agonized breath. “No, you can’t control it, you don’t know what you’re doing.” He looked up at Harry resignedly. “It’s not your fault, but it’s already to late for me to just forget about you.”

 

“ _Merlin_ , nothing you say makes sense,” Harry said under his breath.

 

Sinclair leaned back against the car doorjam and crossed his arms. “What about you?” he asked seriously. “Why can’t you tell me to leave you?”

 

Harry looked away.

 

“Heh. See?” Sinclair glared up at the ceiling.

 

They stood in angry, awkward silence, not looking at each other for what seemed like hours. Harry’s head was ringing and chills were racing down his spine. Sinclair was right about one thing--even though he was the one who kept running away, just the thought of telling the man outright to go away was making him ill.

 

“Sirs?” A soft, nervous voice interrupted any further thoughts. Harry glanced over to find one of the hostesses looking between them worriedly from the next car’s doorway. “Is there anything I can help you with?” she asked.

 

“We’re fine,” Sinclair said, not bothering to look down from glaring at the light fixture above. Harry didn’t dispute him and went back to looking blankly at the dark window of the door he was leaning against.

 

“Well, if you wouldn’t mind stepping away from the train door, sir,” she said hesitantly. “They sometimes open if you press on them too hard.”

 

Sinclair snarled and stalked forward to grab Harry by the shoulder and drag him away from the door. “There, now scram!” he said over his own shoulder at the poor startled woman. She meeped and fled.

 

“Let go!” Harry tried to squirm out of Sinclair’s grasp. It was burning and comforting both, and it was driving him out of his mind.

 

Sinclair angrily shoved him against the wall of the neighboring car and snarled into his face. “ _You-!_ ”

 

Harry flinched and gritted his teeth. Sinclair paused and took a deep breath, his hands clenched on Harry’s shoulders where they were pinning him to the wall. If he pressed up against him now, Harry wasn’t sure he’d be able to stay sane.

 

“You are absolutely infuriating,” Sinclair said flatly, glaring into Harry’s eyes without remorse. “I don’t know what happened to make you think you should be alone, but if I ever find out who convinced you of that I’ll kill ‘em.”

 

Harry frowned, but stayed silent. Having Sinclair this close was already messing with his head because, despite their positions, he felt inexplicably safe with the man.

 

“I don’t know how to convince you that it isn’t true either, because I’ve never had to explain this to a civilian before.” Sinclair straightened, looking down at Harry with an unreadable expression. “I don’t know why it’s you that I’ve finally been enthralled by, and I don’t know why I’m the first one to find you when you burn so blindingly.”

 

Harry’s brow creased in confusion. This man...was he not simply making a love confession? It was a little hard to follow when he kept bringing up ‘civilians’ as if they were a different sort of people, but Sinclair was dressed like a civilian too. Wasn’t he?

 

“I only know that, even if you wish to reject me, your flames have already claimed me.” Sinclair sighed and stepped back, giving Harry’s shoulders one last squeeze before letting go. “If we try to stay apart now, we’ll both go mad.”

 

“What are you talking about?”

 

“Don’t you already feel like you’re going mad?” Sinclair asked, face blank. He tilted his head and regarded Harry. “You’re utterly convinced you shouldn’t get close to me, but you also can’t stand the thought of never seeing me again. Isn’t that crazy?”

 

Harry stared at the man. He was right, but… But that was just because Harry _was_ a little mad. It was only to be expected, with the way his life was. But Sinclair spoke as if he knew exactly what was happening to Harry, and why.

 

“Why are you doing this?” Harry asked. He had thought Sinclair was only attracted to him, plenty of people had been throughout Harry’s life, but it was never like this. It felt like the man was unhappy with him. Like maybe he would prefer not to see Harry ever again…

 

Sinclair looked at him, frustrated and drained. About how Harry felt himself. “Because I’m going mad too,” he said, then he turned and went back into the car, leaving Harry alone.

 

He stood there in the silence, feeling cold and anxious, like icy fingers were scratching him from the inside. To make things worse, the shaking of the train made his stomach upset. Or maybe it was the feeling of a growing distance between himself and Sinclair that was raising the bile in his throat.

 

Harry eventually returned to his seat. Sinclair had another cigarette clenched in his teeth, and there were two more butts in the ashtray than there had been before. He wouldn’t look at him.

 

But even so, Harry felt his head clear and his gut settle the longer he stared at the strange man. He watched Sinclair for the remainder of the ride, not looking away even when his ticket and passport were checked.

 

When they finally reached Milan, Sinclair was the one to leave first, for once not even glancing at Harry as he strode away, and Harry stared after him until he was out of sight.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for such an enthusiastic response! It's my first time writing in the KHR fandom, so I didn't expect so much attention so quickly. Thank you in particular to everyone who reviewed--I LIVE for reviews! Reading people's comments really helped inspire me to write more, so that's what you can thank for such a (relatively) quick update. Hopefully there will be more updates soon! Thanks again!


	3. Famiglia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HA!!! Hahahahaha!! I got an update out before a full year passed~~ XD It's not even July yet!! WooHoo!! ヾ(*´∇`)ﾉ'
> 
> Seriously though, not gonna make any excuses for how late this is- by December I think you could all tell I was distracted with other fandoms. But! I will say one thing! Be careful watching old Italian movies! They are Dangerous!!!! You get sucked in and end up forgetting everything else for weeks, until you run out of movies, wake up, and can't figure out what day it is! And of course, can't remember what the hell your fic plans were supposed to mean, leading to long re-writes and extensive research into ocean liners...which was a lot harder than I thought it would be.
> 
> Anyway!! Enjoy!! <3

 

☀️

☀️☀️☀️

☀️

 

  

Almost as soon as Sinclair vanished, Harry came back to himself and shook his head dazedly, as if coming out of a trance. He was standing on a busy platform, full of piled up luggage and passengers rushing to and fro. The sudden noise and movement pressing around him was a shock, because until just a few moments ago he had no idea anyone else was even around.

 

Dear Merlin, Sinclair really messed him up. With a shiver, Harry hurried along, hoping to find a taxi or something similar into the city. Months afterward, Harry would look back on this moment, and marvel over the fact that he hadn’t even considered getting on another train to leave. He would wonder sometimes, what would have happened if he had.

 

It turned out Milan was yet another city with a tram system, and Harry couldn’t remember if he’d ever known that or not. Frankly, he was having a hard time remembering the last time he was in Milan, or anything else for that matter. When he picked a car to board, it was mostly at random and partly just following the crowd.

 

Which is why Harry ended up wandering in the dark along a bleak, dirty canal in what probably wasn’t a very good part of town. So it wasn’t exactly a surprise when Harry was knocked to the ground and surrounded by three men in rumpled suits.

 

“Brilliant,” Harry murmured into the brick paving. He pushed himself up to find two of the men playing with knives and one leering at him with his arms crossed.

 

“Lost, little coglione?” the man in the middle asked.

 

“Kind of,” Harry admitted tiredly. “Don’t suppose you know any cheap hotels around here?”

 

The men looked at him weirdly. “Tourists get stranger every day,” one of them muttered under his breath.

 

The man in the middle uncrossed his arms with a frown. “We’re robbing you, get it?” He seemed to be the leader of the trio.

 

“Yeah, but it’s not gonna go too well,” Harry said with a shrug. “I don’t have much on me.”

 

The leader rolled his eyes. “Sure you don’t.” He nodded at the man to his right, who stepped over and grabbed Harry’s arm.

 

Harry frowned in annoyance, but just shook his head. “Look if you want to rob me I don’t care, but I really _don’t_ have much money.” He pulled a couple centimes out of his pocket--the remainder of the money he exchanged in Geneva before taking the train. “This is it really.”

 

The other man with the knife took his duffle bag away with a snarl. “We’ll be the judge of that,” he said as he passed the bag over to the leader. The man holding his arm took the coins and pocketed them.

 

Harry waited patiently for the man to toss his things out on the ground, trying to find a wallet or something. For a moment he had Harry’s actual stash in his hands--a torn up coin pouch that Harry had spelled himself to act similar to his old mokeskin pouch--but, finding it seemingly empty, the man tossed it aside with everything else.

 

Finally, with a snort of disgust, the man tossed the duffel down and looked up at Harry with a glare. “Search him.”

 

The man holding Harry yanked his arm and pulled open his coat to go through the pockets. When that turned up no more cash than Harry had already pulled out, he forced Harry to take his shoes off so he could check those and Harry’s socks as well. This also turned up nothing and the men were getting frustrated.

 

“What kind of tourist visits Milan with no money?” the man without a knife asked angrily.

 

Harry shrugged. “The kind who wanders the streets at night because he can't find a cheap enough hotel?” Or any hotel, since Harry actually had plenty of money, he just had no idea where he was.

 

The men scoffed at him, and put their knives away. Harry picked up his jacket and shook it out before putting it back on.

 

“Well, coglione, you're not going to find any hotels around here, not that you could afford any,” the leader told Harry derisively.

 

“I was sort of afraid of that.” Harry said as he started picking up his clothes from the damp, smelly bricks and bundled them into his bag. He’d shake them out with a few cleaning spells once he found a place to stay.

 

The men weren’t going away, watching him calmly collect his things. “You’re pretty weird for a tourist,” the leader of the group said. “Does this happen to you a lot?”

 

“You’d be surprised,” Harry muttered. He grabbed the last stray sock, tossed it into his bag, and stood up. “So...where is this anyway?”

 

“Fucking tourists,” one of the other men muttered. “Even dirt poor they’re crazy!”

 

“Hey, idiota, you’re okay, right?” the leader asked him in concern.

 

Harry blinked. “Yeah, I'm fine,” he said. “Why do you ask?”

 

The men all looked at each other and shrugged awkwardly. “Well, you know, usually people cry a bit or run for it.”

 

“Oh.” Harry’s eyes widened. “ _Oh!_ ” He tilted his head in thought. “Do you think I should?”

 

“It’s the usual response,” the leader replied with a halfhearted gesture.

 

“Huh. I’ll have to remember that for next time.”

 

They stared at him, and Harry shrugged his bag strap up to his shoulder. He and the failed muggers shuffled awkwardly in the street as they looked at each other. The men seemed too embarrassed by their shared history to look him in the eye.

 

“Uh, so where are you gonna sleep?” the leader finally asked.

 

“No idea,” Harry said honestly. Preferably somewhere clean and dry, with a private toilet.

 

“Oh.” The poor mugger appeared honestly upset now, and looked back at his comrades for support. “Well, eh, you know, my grandma’s place is near here, and she’s always telling me to visit, ‘cause she has this extra room, you see? So, if you don’t have any place to go…”

 

Harry stared at the nervous man, a far cry from the smug, dangerous thug of a few minutes ago. He glanced at the two embarrassed men behind him. One of them gave him a half-shrug and looked away, while the other wouldn’t look up at him at all.

 

“Uh, are you offering me a place to stay?” Harry asked hesitantly.

 

“Just until you get back on your feet!” The man glared at him. “My nonni won’t put up with any freeloading!”

 

Harry blinked slowly. He had been mugged, and worse, plenty of times in the past, but he didn’t think he’d had an attacker offer him a place to sleep before. At the man’s own grandmother’s no less.

 

“Well, that’s fair I guess.” Harry had no idea to respond, but it seemed his vague statement was taken as agreement, because the next thing he knew, the three men were leading him to Nonni Nadia’s place a few blocks down and up from the canal.

 

Before bringing him inside, the men introduced themselves, Alain Parondi being the leader of the little group and the two henchmen were Vincenzo Delon and Simone Forcàs. Alain explained to Harry very seriously, that they were not at all muggers or thugs or anything of the sort, because Nonni severely disapproved of that sort of thing.

 

“I mean it, idiota!” Alain whispered harshly as he unlocked the door. “Nonni doesn’t really understand what we do, it’s not all bad, honest, but she thinks the Tomaso are all scum, so you can’t say anything!”

 

“Who are the Tomaso?” Harry asked quietly.

 

Alain turned to him proudly, still whispering, “They’re the best Famiglia in Italy! Technically, they’re based in Modena, but me and the boys are part of the team looking to expand here in Milan, what with all the new industry. Just, Nonni doesn’t like them because they got pop to move the family out to their base.”

 

“Wait, isn’t ‘famiglia’ another word for the mafia?” Harry said suddenly. He remembered the past year in London, when all the news was about gangs in Brighton and the mafia in Italy, and how the world was basically falling apart. Vincenzo and Alain shushed him. “You really are criminals, no wonder your grandmother doesn’t approve.”

 

“It’s really not like she thinks!” Alain insisted under his breath. “We aren’t some common thugs!”

 

“You guys held me up for money,” Harry reminded him.

 

“And now we’re giving you a place to stay, out of the goodness of our hearts!”

 

“Well, certainly you’re very polite muggers.”

 

“Hey! Remember? We didn’t mug you,” Alain said quietly, waving his hand quickly while he clung to the door.

 

“Simone still has my francs.”

 

“Simone give him back his francs!”

 

“But I was going to buy some cigarettes,” Simone whined.

 

“You couldn’t get anything decent with that little anyway!”

 

Simone grumbled some more, but dug into his pocket, pulled out the few coins he’d taken from Harry and handed them over. Harry was just putting them into his own pocket when Alain fell over because the door he’d been holding on to was yanked open.

 

They all stared at the dark figure in the pitch black doorway. It glared out at them before saying in a high, angry voice, “Alain, you and your mafia bastard friends had better not be planning something at this un-Godly hour of the night! You’re not too old for me to take the ladle to, young man, and your grandfather’s belts are still here even if he’s not, God rest his soul!”

 

“ _Merde_ ,” Alain muttered under his breath from the ground. He stood up quickly and tried to placate the irate old woman. “Nonni! I came to visit you, like you wanted! How can you suspect me of such behavior?” he said angrily. “All I did was bring a friend who needs a place to sleep. You wouldn’t be so cruel as to turn him out in the middle of the night, would you Nonni?”

 

“Don’t you nonni me!” The old woman glared at Harry and Alain’s two friends, who flinched. “I know he’s just another one of those heartless bastards you associate with like these two fools! He’s not even dressed properly!”

 

“You’re the crazy standing around in the dark,” Simone muttered darkly.

 

“What was that?” Alain grabbed his grandmother before she went more than a couple steps, but Simone and Vincenzo both flinched and hid behind Harry. “You ruffian! You thug! I know what sort of business you boys do, don’t think I don’t!” She waved her fists at them menacingly.

 

Harry reached out, took one of her hands and held it in both of his. “I don’t suppose you’re talking about them being in the mafia, are you, Madam Parondi?”

 

Alain began waving a hand frantically behind his grandmother’s back, and exaggeratedly mouthed something. Vincenzo and Simone seemed to decide he was no longer a safe barrier between themselves and the old woman, and began inching away.

 

“Yes! I do mean that! Nasty sort,” she snarled with a glare shared between Harry and Alain’s friends. “Don’t think I’m afraid of you, just because you’re in it either! I’m not afraid!”

 

“Well, good, I just wanted to be certain, Mme. Parondi,” Harry said with a charming smile. Alain was all but hopping, still trying to silently catch Harry’s attention. “You see, I’m _not_ in the mafia, and I completely agree with you. I think your poor grandson getting involved with such unsavory criminal behavior is absolutely deplorable.”

 

Alain froze, his mouth hanging open in a twisted grimace. His grandmother, on the other hand, perked up and looked at Harry carefully.

 

“Here now, you don’t look the mafia type, but you’re much too scruffy to be an honest man!” the old woman muttered as she eyed Harry from top to bottom.

 

Harry nodded sadly in agreement. “I’m on a backpacking holiday you see, and unfortunately, I was robbed by some horrible men on my way to Milan.” Harry gestured behind the woman at Alain, who hurried to stand up straight and plaster a weak grin on his face. “Alain and his friends found me wandering the streets, unable to pay for a room, or a meal, or even a cup of coffee, and they generously offered me a place to stay here with you.”

 

The old grandmother looked between her grandson and Harry suspiciously, before settling on Harry. Alain let out a breath as if he’d been holding it under her gaze, and stared at Harry in near awe.

 

“I realize that it is awfully rude to barge in on you in the middle of the night,” Harry continued. “But I hope you won’t be angry with Alain. After all, even if he shouldn’t have offered up your home without permission, he was still trying to do the right thing.”

 

Nonni Nadia sniffed regally. “He’s a good boy at heart.” She took Harry by the arm and led him inside. “Come on then, you must be starving, I’ll make you something.”

 

As they passed by Alain though, the old woman’s free arm whipped out and smacked the man on the side of the head.

 

“Ow!” Alain sputtered, rubbing his head and glaring. “What was that for? You just said-”

 

“Don’t think you can fool me!” She glared right back at her grandson, and Harry peered over her head at him worriedly, trapped at her side by a suddenly iron grip. “You boys tried to rob this poor young man but found he had nothing on him, didn’t you?”

 

“Wha-” Alain flinched and flushed a dark red. “Nonni! How could you think that of your sweet grandson? After I brought a penniless traveler to you for shelter?”

 

Nonni Nadia snorted. “I pray everyday for your wretched soul to turn back to good works, and it’s finally having some effect. I’ll be sure to pray extra for you this week,” she said with a determined nod. “Now go make up the bed for my guest. I’ll have some bigoli ready for you when you come back down.”

 

Alain muttered and cursed under his breath as he ducked past them to hurry upstairs, barely missing another swing from his grandmother. Nonni turned to Harry and patted his arm comfortingly, iron fingers melting into warm butter. “I’ll get you fed and into bed, dealing with my idiota grandson and his thug friends must have been exhausting.”

 

“Hey!” Simone yelled behind them. “We’re still here, you know?”

 

Nonni turned to glare at the two men in the street, making them flinch and step back. “And you two bastards better get home! When I think of what your poor mothers go through wondering what their fool sons get up to- ah!” She waved at them angrily.

 

Vincenzo was the first to leave, not quite running, but definitely walking faster than normal, and Simone hurried after him with a curse and a half-hearted gesture back at them. Nonni nodded in satisfaction and closed the door.

 

“Oh, I like you,” Harry said admiringly.

 

Nonni blushed and patted his arm again with a pleased smile. “Of course you do. You’re a good boy, just like my idiot grandson.” She turned to a small table and turned up an old oil lamp, filling the room with soft orange light. “Now, let's get some food in you. You’re much too skinny.”

 

⛅️⛅️⛅️

 

The next day, Harry was woken bright and early by Nonni shaking his shoulder before walking briskly over to the window and throwing open the curtains.

 

“I have breakfast hot and ready, wash your face and get dressed so you can start looking for a job,” Nonni said cheerfully. “Maybe you can drag my idiot grandson along with you and help him straighten out.”

 

“Oh, I’m not really looking for a job, Madame Nadia,” Harry said sleepily, rubbing his eyes as he sat up.

 

“Not looking for a job?” Nonni repeated incredulously. She reached over and smacked his shoulder. “What do you think you’re going to do with no money so far from home? You aren’t staying here forever with no rent to pay!”

 

“Well, that’s not-”

 

“Oh no! You’re going to go out and find something honest to do with yourself, I won’t put up with any freeloading!” Nonni glared at Harry with her hands on her hips. “I get enough of that from my idiota grandson!”

 

“I didn’t mean that I wasn’t going to work, Madame,” Harry interrupted as he woke up more. “I mean, I can get by okay if I get some short jobs, but Alain needs something more steady, doesn’t he? Something respectable and long-term.”

 

“Hmmm,” Nonni nodded thoughtfully. “That’s true enough. But if you’re only looking for something temporary, you’ll have to ditch my grandson.”

 

“Huh?” Harry blinked up at her.

 

“I told him to be over here first thing in the morning to help you find some work,” Nonni said with a flap of her hand. “But if _he_ looks for any short term jobs, it’s guaranteed to be for the mafia. They love using clueless in-betweeners.” She huffed and glared at nothing. “That’s how they duped my moron of a son into working for them.”

 

“I see.” Harry watched the woman contemplatively. It felt a little wrong to pretend to be so much worse off than he was. Although, his plan _was_ always to find temporary jobs in various cities as he traveled; it was just that he was only supposed to do that when he was low on funds and… he wasn’t yet. Still, he didn’t want anything to do with the mafia, so he would have to find a way to get a job without any help.

 

“I’ll think of something, Madame, but I don’t want to be rude. Not if he’s trying to help me, no matter how misguided that help may be.”

 

Nonni Nadia sighed and patted Harry’s shoulder. “You’re a good boy. It was a real blessing Alain ran into you; maybe you can help steer him back to honest work.”

 

Harry wasn’t sure he could do that, but he nodded anyway and Nonni left him alone to dress in his nicest slacks and jacket. When he came downstairs, Alain was seated at the table eating while his grandmother gave him instructions. Harry was acknowledged long enough to sit and have his plate filled and coffee poured into his cup.

 

“You’re going to go by Vitto’s bakery, see if he needs any help,” Nonni was saying. “He should, this close to Easter, but if no, then your next stop should be Nicolo’s, and as God is my witness, don’t you dare take this nice boy to your bastard mafia den.”

 

Nonni Nadia stopped wiping down the stovetop to turn and glare at her grandson. Alain coughed on a mouthful of bread and swallowed quickly.

 

“I know, nonni! I know!” He waved her off and took a long gulp of coffee. “I said I’ll get him a good job, and I will!”

 

“I mean it!” Nonni Nadia walked over and slapped Alain’s shoulder with her rag. “I hear you’ve got this poor boy doing even one parcel run or lookout job for your thug friends, and I will beat the sin right out of you!”

 

“I get it, I get it!” Alain said angrily. He shoveled the last few bites of food into his mouth and bumped Harry with his wrist to hurry up. Harry downed the last bitter drops of his coffee in one long swallow and stood up. “We’ll go to Vitto’s and Nicolo’s and Matteo’s, and he’ll have a nice respectable job by the end of the day!”

 

Then, before Harry could make his own assurances, Alain dragged him out of the house and hurried them up the street to catch a tram.

 

“ _Merde_ ,” Alain muttered under his breath. “I knew there was a reason I didn’t visit.”

 

“She just wants you to be safe,” Harry said with a shrug. “Working for the mafia must be pretty dangerous.”

 

Alain scoffed. “Not much more than anything else I could do,” he said. “At least working for the Tomaso I get a bit of protection. It’s safer than just being a nobody!”

 

“That makes very little sense,” Harry said with a yawn.

 

Alain gave him a sour look and grumbled to himself the whole ride. He was nice enough to pay for Harry’s ticket at least. But when they finally made it to wherever Alain had decided to take him, Harry had a very strong suspicion that it wasn’t any of Nonni Nadia’s suggested stops.

 

“Alain, I know I wasn’t really listening earlier,” Harry said as he stopped to  look around, “but I’m fairly certain that none of the places Nadia told us to visit are here.”

 

“How would you know?” Alain said with a huff. He came back to grab Harry by the arm and dragged him through the crowds with a mutter of _“Tourists!”_ under his breath.

 

“Because this is the Galleria Vittorio,” Harry said, not minding, as he now had the opportunity to gawk while still walking. Alain wouldn’t steer him into anything. Well...probably he wouldn’t.

 

“Heh, yeah, so maybe Nonni don’t know anyone who owns a place here.” Alain laughed as they walked inside the Galleria. The noise was more intense under the curving glass roof, everything echoed against the ornate walls and gilded motifs, bouncing crazily through the air until every voice and movement blended together into an overwhelming constant buzz. “But I sure do! I’ll get you a job in no time!”

 

“I don’t really want to do anything for the mafia,” Harry reminded him as he admired the smooth, polished tiles under their feet. Alain was dodging them both through the crowd like he did it every day and the pace was just a bit too fast for Harry to get a good look at the decorative façade on the walls between shops, or the intricate iron lattice above. “I like your grandmother.”

 

“Oh for… I’m not gonna make you do anything _bad_ ,” Alain said snidely. “You’re just gonna stand outside this one little cafe down the street, have a drink maybe, and let me know if anyone goes inside. Easiest thing in the world!”

 

“Wow,” Harry blinked. That was pretty much exactly what Mme. Nadia said Alain would do. He needed to ditch Alain a lot sooner than he thought he would.

 

Alain led him through the crowds of the mall, stopping briefly over a mosaic bull on the floor and making him twirl on its bullocks. He kept chatting all the while about what a nice, easy job he had for Harry, much better than running errands for some bakery. Then they left the Galleria through the west side, crossed the street, and joined a crowd to wait for another streetcar.

 

“Oh my god, why did we even come here?” Harry asked as they stood with a group of men in dark suits and women in straight, knee-high skirts with matching boxy jackets.

 

“For luck!” Alain slapped Harry’s back with a grin. “It’s traditional, now everything’s sure to go well.”

 

“You mean there’s a chance it won’t go well?”

 

“No! No, you’ll be fine!” Alain laughed and put an arm around Harry’s shoulders as the tram arrived. “I told you, it’s going to be easy.”

 

Well that sounded ominous. Alain had them hang back so they were the last to board and ended up standing by the door in the packed car. Harry sighed. “Alain...I don’t think this is such a good idea.”

 

“What are you talking about? It’s a great idea!” Alain smirked at him. “Hey, you’re just letting Nonni’s bad opinion get to you. No worries though, it’s nothing dangerous, and the pay is more than decent for the work!” Alain grinned at him. “Trust me, this is so easy, you’ll be back on your feet in no time! Now let's go.”

 

“Wait, what?” Harry barely had time to say before the tram stopped and Alain was leading him back onto the street. “One stop? Seriously? We could have walked, or not stopped at the Galleria.”

 

“No way, this was faster!” Alain shook his head and patted Harry’s back, smirking. “And we had to stop there, you needed the luck.”

 

Harry was pushed into an iron chair before he could argue more. They had reached the cafe. The street itself was fairly wide, but most of it seemed to be for pedestrians, and the cafe had used nearly all the space around its doors to set up a dozen little, shiny metal tables and stiff matching chairs.

 

“Alright!” Alain grinned at him as he put on a pair of sunglasses. “You just need to stay here for an hour, have a drink or something, and if anyone in a brown hat and jacket goes in, remember their face so you can tell me, got it?”

 

Harry sighed. This was such a bad idea. Nonni Nadia was going to be furious if she found out. Alain took the sigh as Harry’s consent to his ‘nice and easy’ job and smiled wider. He gave Harry a few coins before he walked off and disappeared around the corner.

 

Harry looked around dismally. Normally he didn’t mind hanging around coffee shops and just relaxing, but knowing what sort of business Alain was mixed up in made just being here uncomfortable. What if something happened? Should he react to it, or ignore it? What if police showed up? What if there was a gunfight? What if the cafe exploded because some rival mafia group had planted a bomb? What if Alain was planting a bomb?

 

He agonized over every bad thing he’d seen in connection to mafia on the news that could happen while he ordered a drink from a cheery waitress in sharp a black skirt and watched the doors as discreetly as he could. He was so distracted that he didn’t notice the man walking toward him until he sat down across the shiny table from him.

 

“Ciao,” the man said leaning back in his chair with a blank face. “Drinking another sweet coffee?”

 

Harry jumped in his seat and glanced worriedly between Sinclair and the cafe. Sinclair was staring off to the side, watching the traffic or the pedestrians go by.

 

“Oh, uh, yes, I mean no,” Harry glanced down at his cup. “Just a cappuccino.”

 

“Hmmm, that’s unusual,” Sinclair said. He lit a cigarette with an elegant, practiced move and took a long drag before looking at Harry. “What are you doing?”

 

Harry watched the door out of the corner of his eye. “Nothing. Having coffee. What are _you_ doing?”

 

Sinclair raised an eyebrow and twisted slightly to glance over at the cafe. Harry forced himself not to fidget and kept his eyes forward, but Sinclair was only waving down a waitress to order his espresso.

 

“Maybe I should rephrase.” Sinclair turned to face Harry with a flat expression. “What are you doing here, at this cafe?”

 

Harry pressed his lips together in a frown. “Having a cappuccino,” he said sternly. “What about you?”

 

They stared at each other for a minute, then Sinclair blew out a stream of smoke above them and sat back.

 

“I’m wondering what you think you’re doing getting involved in something you shouldn’t,” Sinclair finally said, his voice and his eyes turning hard as he finished and looked up.

 

Harry managed to keep from jerking, but he was sure his face must have shown some reaction, because Sinclair scoffed at him and looked over at the cafe door. Two men in brown coats and fedoras were just walking inside.

 

“Oh, damn,” Harry muttered. Sinclair gave a snort, making Harry glare at him. “Why the hell do you know what’s going on anyway?” he asked in annoyance. “Are you following me?”

 

“Actually, I’m working,” Sinclair said, casually taking a breath from his cigarette.

 

Harry stared at him. “Oh my god, you’re a criminal too. You’re a mafi-Ow! What was that for?” Harry asked in annoyance as he reached down to rub his shin.

 

Sinclair frowned at him and pointedly stretched his legs out next to Harry’s chair. “If you’re doing what I think you’re doing, you really should know better.”

 

“I told you, I’m having a cappuccino,” Harry said sullenly.

 

Sinclair looked like he wished he could roll his eyes, but thought doing so was too immature. “So, your interest in who goes into the cafe is...?”

 

“People watching,” Harry said flatly.

 

 _That_ made Sinclair roll his eyes though he closed them immediately after and pinched his brow. “Of course,” he said under his breath. He looked up tiredly. “How much are you being paid for this?”

 

Harry blinked. Alain hadn’t mentioned how much he’d get, and then he’d vanished while Harry was still trying to come up with an excuse not to do this at all.

 

Sinclair sighed and looked at Harry seriously. “You at least know how dangerous this is, right?”

 

“I’ve seen the news.”

 

“So, not really then.”

 

“Hey! I just said-”

 

Sinclair leaned onto the table suddenly and spoke in a low and slightly angry voice. “Don’t think you can’t be killed just because you’re a civilian. Especially not if you’re doing a _job_.”

 

Harry frowned. “When you said you were working, what does that mean?” he asked. “What are you supposed to do?”

 

Sinclair gave him a sardonic look and raised an eyebrow.

 

“Oh.” Harry shifted uneasily. “So, when you said I could be killed…”

 

Sinclair shrugged and leaned back, taking another long drag on his cigarette. “So long as the lookout is distracted, I’ve done my job.”

 

That sure was comforting. “Is this what you were doing everywhere else?” Harry asked with a frown.

 

“No.”

 

Harry waited, but Sinclair took a sip of his espresso and said nothing more.

 

“Okay…” Harry glanced back at the cafe, but the two men weren't visible in the windows and weren’t coming out. Suddenly he felt something run up along his leg, halfway between a stroke and a tickle. He turned to Sinclair and found the man smirking mischievously. “You did not just do that.”

 

“Do what?” Sinclair flicked ash off his cigarette with an almost convincing innocent face.

 

Harry gave him a very unconvinced look and moved his chair so he faced the door and was out of reach. Sinclair got up and moved his chair around the little table and settled directly in front of him.

 

“Oh for-!” Harry tried to lean around so he could see the door, but the chairs were too narrow and Sinclair moved with him. “Do you have to be this annoying?”

 

Sinclair smirked as he leaned forward and propped an elbow on the table while Harry half lay across it to see around him. “We could go have coffee somewhere else you know. It’s never fun to mix business with pleasure.”

 

“And what makes you think there’s anything pleasurable about coffee with you?” Harry finally sat back with a huff, crossed his arms and glared at the annoying man. He hadn’t really wanted to do a mafia job anyway.

 

“You seemed to enjoy it enough in Amsterdam,” Sinclair said with a satisfied smirk.

 

Harry flushed briefly and glared at him. Sinclair’s smirk grew into a soft smile, clearly pleased that Harry hadn’t refuted him.

 

“If you don’t want coffee, we could go for an early lunch,” Sinclair offered, voice going low and silky. “I know an amazing place a few blocks away. It has the best cassoeula you’ll ever taste.”

 

“I’m supposed to find a job,” Harry said. He gave the cafe door an annoyed glance and Sinclair shifted again so he blocked the view. “Isn’t Ala--my friend going to get in trouble with his, uh, group? Since you kind of ruined this whatever-it-was?”

 

“You didn't even know what you were doing, why’d you agree to it in the first place?” Sinclair asked, his forehead creased. “Are you that desperate for money?”

 

“Not particularly,” Harry gave a careless shrug, “and I didn't really have time to ask. I was supposed to get a _non_ -criminal job.”

 

“I can get you one,” Sinclair offered. “A nice, safe civilian job.”

 

Harry made a face, annoyed that the man thought he needed something ‘safe.’ “I don’t actually need a job at all.”

 

Sinclair frowned. “Don’t you need money for your pensioni?”

 

“No…” Harry gave him a weird look. “Wait- _have_ you been following me?”

 

“Of course not,” Sinclair said- much too nonchalantly to be honest. “But you bought a rather expensive train ticket out of Geneva just because it was the first one available last night. Figure that must have cut into your funds some.”

 

“And you caught the same train in Lausanne, even though I’d just seen you earlier in Geneva,” Harry said slowly.

 

“Total coincidence.” Sinclair took a leisurely drag on his cigarette and blew out a stream of smoke above them.

 

“Don’t treat me like an idiot!” Harry snapped with a dark frown. Sinclair looked up at him carefully, then took another slow breath from his cigarette.

 

“I don’t think you’re an idiot,” he said quietly. “But I also think you have no idea what you’ve wandered into coming here.”

 

“I know what I’m doing!” Harry glared at the man and at the cafe behind him. “I know it’s dangerous, that’s why I didn't want to do it in the first place!”

 

“Then why are you even here?” Sinclair made a quick, aborted gesture at the table and street around them. “Why’d you even agree to this?”

 

“I didn't!” Harry snapped. “I just didn’t know how to say no!”

 

Sinclair blinked at him, holding his cigarette close to the tabletop. Harry winced and looked away, his cheeks growing hot with embarrassment.

 

“Okay… _Now_ I think you’re an idiot.”

 

“Shut up,” Harry said sullenly. “I just… I don’t want him to get in trouble.”

 

“If he’s this bad at his job, you can’t really prevent that in our crowd,” Sinclair said seriously.

 

“You don’t know that he’s bad at his job-” Harry tried to defend Alain.

 

“Getting civilians involved in our business is always a bad idea,” Sinclair cut him off and gave him a pointed look. “If I didn't know you… Well, I know you’re not that much of an idiot you can’t guess what would have happened.”

 

Harry regarded the man- the _mafia_ man- before him. He did know. He’d been worrying about all the things that could go wrong with this job since he sat down. But the mafia didn't see all those scenarios as ‘going wrong.’ No, as far as they were concerned that was just business as usual. As far as Sinclair was concerned it was business as usual….

 

Harry didn't like to think of Sinclair in mafia terms for some reason. It didn’t sit well with him. Regardless, the man did have a point about Alain.

 

“I did already know that,” Harry said with a tired sigh. “But I didn’t mean your crowd. I meant his grandmother.”

 

Sinclair raised an eyebrow as he looked at him over his cigarette. Harry shook his head and shrugged.

 

“She’s really nice, and she hates his _work_.” Harry shifted and looked away down the street, wondering where exactly Alain had gone. He had to know by now that this job was a bust. “I guess I was hoping this would be over quickly so she wouldn't find out and be...disappointed with him.”

 

Sinclair stared at him for a minute, as if waiting for him to say ‘Just kidding!’and laugh. When Harry continued avoiding his gaze like he was embarrassed, he brought his free hand up to pinch his brow between his eyes. “Unbelievable,” he muttered.

 

“She’s nice!” Harry said mulishly.

 

“I’m sure,” Sinclair said under his breath. He glared at Harry. “Well, it is over with quickly, so as long as you don’t tell the woman, your _friend_ should be safe from her wrath.”

 

“I think I’m supposed to wait for him to come back.” Harry watched the street unhappily. Still no Alain.

 

“I don’t care. Your friend’s an idiot.” Sinclair rubbed his cigarette harshly into the side of the table top’s edge and threw the butt away. “Come have lunch with me, and I’ll help you find a job without any criminal activity.”

 

Harry turned back to argue, but when he saw Sinclair’s face something in it made him pause. He glanced briefly at the cafe, wondering how big a deal this actually was, and remembered some of the more gruesome news clips from the telly. Today could have been another news clip, if Alain hadn’t asked him to sit here, and if Sinclair hadn’t been the one sitting across from him. He sighed tiredly.

 

“It’s too early for lunch,” he said.

 

“Late breakfast then,” Sinclair offered.

 

“I ate already.”

 

“Then we can just go find you a job.”

 

Harry shook his head and, before Sinclair could come up with another suggestion, he got up and pushed his chair in. “Let’s just go. I want to walk for a bit.”

 

Sinclair blinked slowly, clearly surprised by Harry’s easy inclusion of him after running away so many times, but stood quickly as well.

 

Then they left, Harry taking the lead, not really knowing where he was going so long as it was away. He was suddenly exhausted, despite all the coffee.

 


	4. Mafioso

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((Warnings for a lot of cursing in this chapter. The explicit language tag went up pretty much entirely because of the next couple chapters. If you see Italian, just assume it is a bad word and don't repeat it in public.))
> 
> I just want to say thanks again to everyone who reviews. You wouldn't believe how much power a good review has! It is honestly a surprise to me that I was able to get this out so soon. I thought I was gonna be editing and staring at a blank page forever.
> 
> But I'm still going, and still researching cruise ships...despite knowing I will not write nearly as much about ships as I think I will. Oh, and everyone who gives advice on the Italian I've used so far, THANK YOU, and I am really, really sorry for this chapter! XP

 

☀️

☀️☀️☀️

☀️

  


The street wasn’t as crowded further away from the cafe and there was still no sign of Alain, so Harry just kept walking, going past the tram station and turning the corner in the opposite direction of the Galleria. The streets around them seemed to be a business district, which would explain the slowly thinning foot traffic, but he knew such a popular shopping district as the Galleria would be busy no matter what.

 

Sinclair was strangely silent while walking beside Harry. Or maybe it wasn't strange; the man had been quiet when they first met in Innsbruck. Harry didn’t know him well enough to tell what was normal. He wondered if the man was as tired of chasing after him as Harry was of running away.

 

He wondered why the thought the man might get tired of _him_ sent a chill down his spine.

 

Unfortunately it became difficult for Harry to think much about anything as the further they walked, the busier the street became. He was certain they had passed at least one government building, and everything else looked like offices and such, so it should have been a quiet area for this time of day. But instead there was an incredible amount of bustling, hundreds of people hurrying around, on the streets, on the walkways….

 

It was a noisy, chaotic flow of people, people, people, and it was starting to give Harry a headache.

 

Sinclair was keeping pace with him, not looking particularly concerned, but when Harry flinched from yet another wave of pedestrians pressing too close as they all hurried to cross the street ahead of them, he took Harry by the elbow and steered him to the side and under a stone arch. The alley behind the archway was short, not even a full block, and opened very suddenly out to a large rounded square that was a whole world away from where they’d just been.

 

The area was grassy and quiet, a startling change from the paved streets and honking traffic, and everywhere were stone pillars and broken walls rising out of the green. Roman ruins, only a step off the brick alley that led back to a paved street full of cars and pencil skirts and vespas and suits.

 

There were some signs of modern times in the buildings around them and graffiti on most of the ruins, paint and carvings, mostly of slurs and names, and the occasional crude drawing. All of it was faded though, much like the stone it was on, as if it had all been there forever just as it appeared now.

 

But best of all, was the quiet, all the traffic muffled to a gentle roar in the background.

 

Harry wandered around, just looking, and Sinclair followed silently behind him. There were areas that looked dug up and muddy, where wheelbarrows and shovels were left, and sections where string cordoned off some pillars and bits of wall. Other areas were overgrown with grass and weeds and shrubs, discarded cigarette butts and trash were the only signs of people visiting. It was half archeological dig, half abandoned lot.

 

After circling the whole area, Harry picked out one of the grassy places, with the least amount of trash that he kicked aside, and lay down. It was sunny and laying back to stare at the sky, all he could see was a couple of the stone pillars, a rooftop from one of the surrounding buildings, telephone wire, and endless blue.

 

“You're gonna get grass stains,” Sinclair commented. He was still standing to the side, looking down at Harry with an unreadable expression and his hands in his pockets.

 

“They'll wash out.” Harry was finally starting to relax, the warmth from the sun doing wonders for a chill he hadn't realized he had until he could feel the heat chasing it out of his bones. He closed his eyes with a sigh.

 

Sinclair sorted. “If you wash your clothes in the navigli, you'll have worse than grass stains.”

 

“I don't have to use the canals to wash my clothes.”

 

“There's not much other choice where you're staying.”

 

Harry opened his eyes and looked up to find Sinclair standing almost over his head, looking back down at him with those flat black eyes.

 

“So you did follow me,” Harry said placidly. Why wasn't he bothered by that?

 

Sinclair lifted a hand up to pull his hat down to hide his eyes - a completely useless gesture when the person looking at him was below him - and which should have looked ridiculous from this angle, but with a simple tilt of his head, the man managed to make look cool.

 

“You saw what happened last night,” Harry continued. He didn't say _Why didn't you help?_ and the absence of it felt heavy, not really an accusation but it hung in the air between them.

 

It was difficult to see what sort of look Sinclair gave him shaded by the brim of his hat, but Harry was sure it was very judgemental.

 

“You didn't need help,” the man said simply. He frowned and looked away. “You weren't afraid at all.”

 

That wasn't said as a question, but it definitely seemed to be one, hanging in the air now like Harry’s silence just had. Harry thought about it, trying to remember what he'd felt last night meeting Alain and his friends. It really hadn't been fear, and it had been such a long time since Harry felt that anyway he couldn’t even imagine why the would-be robbers should have caused fear.

 

“They were just kids,” he said finally.

 

“They're all at least as old as you.” Sinclair still seemed to be frowning and was now staring at Harry as if trying to puzzle out something. Harry shrugged and closed his eyes.

 

“I guess,” he said vaguely. “But they feel younger.”

 

Sinclair snorted but pointedly didn't argue. Harry thought some more.

 

“They didn't feel terribly dangerous,” he said slowly, “just like they wanted to be but didn't have much practice at it.” He tasted the words as he spoke and decided they fit for Alain and his friends well enough. “They're good kids, they gave me a place to stay.”

 

Sinclair scoffed. “Sure. They threatened you with a knife, but they're good kids.”

 

“Better than threatening me with a gun,” Harry said with an attempted shrug. He was definitely going to get grass stains on his jacket.

 

Sinclair was silent for a minute, long enough for Harry to start relaxing again and slip close to drifting off.

 

“So a gun would frighten you?” was said quietly above him.

 

Harry blinked drowsily up at the man. “Guess it depends on who's holding it.”

 

Sinclair stared at him silently, and Harry felt like it would be wrong to look away, so he stared back. Finally, the man gave a snort, and turned to walk over to a knee high pile of stones that might have once been a wall. He sat down on the very edge of the smooth rounded stones and elegantly stretched out his legs to keep his balance. After a quick flick he had a lit cigarette between his lips, hands back in his pockets, and he was settled as if he planned to stay there for the rest of the day.

 

Harry was certain the man was smiling, but with the angle and the cigarette it looked more like a smirk.

 

“You know, you'd be more comfortable on the ground,” Harry offered.

 

Sinclair tilted his head to the side. His black eyes were scarily bright reflecting the cigarette burn under the shadow of his hat, and Harry found he couldn’t look away. After a minute, the man lifted a hand up to take the cigarette out and answered.

 

“You can get all the grass stains you want but this suit cost more than the train here.”

 

“If it's so expensive, I'm sure you can afford to get it cleaned properly,” Harry said with a grin. He was warm inside and out, and for some reason it felt like he'd passed some kind of test. It made him almost giddy.

 

Sinclair looked at him with an eyebrow cocked, face blank but somehow giving the impression that he didn't quite believe what he was seeing.

 

“Come on,” Harry patted the ground beside him. “It won't hurt. Promise.”

 

Sinclair snorted and closed his eyes. Harry thought that would be the end, the man was just going to ignore him now, and while it was a shame he couldn't keep teasing if it really bothered him. But then the man stood up in a sudden fluid movement, hands still in his pockets, and strolled over to him. His eyes opened just the barest crack to look down at him.

 

“Any grass stains I get, _you're_ washing out,” he said darkly. Then he crouched down and sat cross legged beside Harry’s head. “And you're not allowed to use the stinking canal water.”

 

Harry stared at him for a moment, blinking stupidly, then he snorted out a laugh that soon devolved into helpless giggles he tried to smother under his hand. Sinclair was glaring at him, confused by the laughter and suspicious he was being laughed at. Harry twisted onto his side towards him and looked up at the man, grinning widely.

 

“You're ridiculous,” he said, so fondly that it shocked the man into staring dumbly back at him rather than take offense. Harry grinned wider. “Deal,” he said, again so warmly that Renato seemed helpless to respond, and how did that somehow make it so much easier to think of him as ‘Renato’ instead of ‘Sinclair’?

 

He’d have to ask first before actually using it though, it would be too rude to assume anything. Even if the way Renato was looking at him, wide eyed and mouth very slightly slack, was absolutely hilarious.

 

Harry turned onto his back again, luxuriating in the flood of warmth he could feel tingling through his skin all the way down to his bones. Laying in the sun was definitely the best; he was glad winter was finally over. As he tucked his hands back behind his head, he heard a soft sigh next to him and glanced up. Renato's eyes were closed again, but he had the most relaxed expression Harry had yet seen on the man. He smiled and closed his own eyes.

 

Looked like he wasn't the only one ready for spring.

 

⛅️⛅️⛅️

 

It was probably ridiculous to feel so at ease spending the day with Renato after having tried so hard to avoid him, Harry thought ruefully. But he was already hopelessly attached if the constant warm feeling spreading through his chest was any indication. Even the thought of giving up the man’s comforting presence now was enough to make Harry shiver with goosebumps.

 

His plan to be a wandering hermit would have to wait for next time. For now, he would simply enjoy having a companion for as long as it lasted. Glancing at the man beside him, who had only really relaxed finally after Harry agreed to let him walk him back to Mme. Nadia’s place, he hoped it would be a long, long while before they had to say goodbye.

 

“What are you grinning about?” Renato asked suspiciously.

 

Harry shook his head and laughed. “I’m just...glad, I guess.”

 

Renato gave him a weird look. “Are you planning another sudden trip across Europe?”

 

“No.” Harry glanced away. “I… Well, it’s probably silly, but I wanted to say thanks.”

 

“Huh?” Renato’s face was almost hilariously blank, as if the man was so unsure how to react that he couldn’t react at all. Harry had the feeling he was _very_ embarrassed by his slack-jawed shock earlier in the day.

 

“Thanks for sticking around,” Harry said with a shrug. “You were right.” He looked back at Renato and grinned. “This is better than being alone.”

 

Renato’s face was so stiff it could have been carved from stone. Harry had to clap a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing. That seemed to help the man snap out of it though.

 

“Do you always laugh at people doing you a favor?” Renato asked sullenly, then brushed past Harry down the alley, looking anywhere but at him. Harry smiled softly and simply followed. Renato was going to be an interesting friend, he could tell.

 

As they walked, Harry turned to thinking what he was going to tell Mme. Nadia and Alain when he saw them. He was supposed to get a job today, and he’d basically bailed on Alain and his ‘job,’ then spent the whole day fooling around with Renato.

 

After waking up from a very pleasant nap, during which Renato had apparently just sat around and watched him, Harry had admitted he did have money hidden away and that was why he didn’t need to find any part time work. So they went to lunch instead. They didn’t have cassoeula, but Renato seemed to know all the best food around, and Harry thought the man rather enjoyed taking him on a brief eating tour of the city. He was very full by the time evening came, too full to even consider dinner, though Renato tried to tempt him with dessert.

 

It was very tempting, but Harry had refused because he needed to give Nadia at least some money, so she wouldn’t think he had skived off-- or that Alain had given him mafia work. He also had to figure out a good cover for how he got the money he had-- make up some sort of part time job he could have found on his own that would be believable.

 

He still hadn’t come up with anything though, and he and Renato were almost there. Oh! And he had to think of something to say about Renato too, Nadia was sure to peg him for a mafioso. It was a bit obvious now that Harry thought of it.

 

If only he didn’t feel so fuzzy around the edges, he’d have come up with something already.

 

The nap and then all the food had left Harry in a warm, contented haze. It was no wonder Renato had asked why he was smiling so much-- he was walking around like a happy little dope! Even knowing how embarrassing he was being, Harry was too relaxed to care. He could still feel the sun from the day soaking into his skin, and the warmth from all the delicious food still filled him up more nicely than anything else he’d ever eaten.

 

He was so out of it that it took him a few steps to realize Renato had stopped and was staring down the street at the Parondi household, where Alain and his friends were hanging about. Harry glanced at Renato curiously, then turned back to wave at the men waiting for him.

 

“Do you really need anything in that bag of your’s?” Renato asked suddenly.

 

“What?” Harry frowned back at him. “What in the world is that supposed to mean?”

 

He turned to continue walking, but was pulled back by Renato grabbing his arm and yanking him to the side.

 

“What the bloody hell-!” Harry only had time to turn to the man, intending to ask what was wrong with him, when a gunshot blasted through the air. Harry blinked, his ears ringing, and looked behind him to see another man, one he didn’t recognize walking calmly towards them, a gun pointed directly at them.

 

Or rather, his gun was pointed at Renato, who had dragged Harry to the wall of the building next to Mme. Nadia’s home and stood before him. He also had a gun out, and pointed at the stranger.

 

“I suppose it’s too much to expect such a simple shot to actually hit a renowned man like you,” the man with the gun said. Despite his self-deprecating tone, the man was smiling smugly and watching Renato with eager, narrowed eyes.

 

Renato just glared and raised his gun.

 

“Ah, ah, ah!” The man waved a finger at him as if scolding a child, then gestured down the street.

 

Harry glanced over and saw Alain and Simone also pointing guns toward them. They didn’t look too happy, and Vincenzo behind them was blocking Nadia’s front door and keeping his eyes on the other end of the street.

 

“A simple shot might not work on you, but a simple trap seems like it will do the trick,” the stranger said, sounding nauseatingly pleased.

 

“We’ll see,” Renato said coldly. He hardly bothered to glance at Alain and Simone, keeping his attention on the stranger. Harry had to admit, the other man did feel more dangerous out of all of them.

 

He couldn’t help but turn to Alain though, who didn’t seem to like being looked at, and immediately started sputtering and waving his gun around. Simone had to back away just to stay out of range, and Harry was worried the gun might go off while it was being jerked about.

 

“Why didn’t you tell us you were friends with him!” Alain finally got out.

 

“I wasn’t,” Harry said with a shrug. “I didn’t even know he was a mafioso.”

 

“Th-that-- You have to be kidding!” Alain said angrily. “How could any idiot not tell!”

 

“How was I supposed to know?” Harry frowned and tried to step closer to the two, but Renato shifted back so he blocked him, never taking his eyes off the stranger. Harry gave him a brief glare, then turned back to Alain and crossed his arms in annoyance. “It’s not like he told me he was mafia-- not until you got me to do that stupid job for you!”

 

“I wouldn’t have if I’d known you were friends with one of their bastado dogs!”

 

“And I told you I wasn’t!” Harry was starting to get angry finally. “Why couldn’t you just take me to that bakery your grandmother told you to!”

 

“Hey, don’t bring her into this!” Alain waved his gun around to point at his grandmother’s door. Simone jumped out of the way and Vincenzo flinched backward and fell off the step. “I was trying to help you!”

 

“Some help,” Harry scoffed. “Setting me up to watch mafia without warning me?”

 

“This is cute and all, but I’m getting bored.” The man facing off with Renato sneered and called down the street. “Just shoot him already.”

 

Alain blanched. But he still raised his gun to point toward Harry again.

 

Harry just watched him silently, a resigned frown on his face. Renato was unnaturally stiff behind him.

 

“Well, what are you waiting for?” the man snarled when nothing happened.

 

“I--” Alain flinched and glanced back at his friends, then Harry, then the man. The gun in his hand was wavering and Harry worried now that if he fired, the bullet would go through a wall and hurt someone else.

 

“It’s alright,” Harry said calmly. He gave Alain a soft smile. “Just calm down.”

 

“Don’t fucking listen to him!” the man yelled. “Are you a Tomaso or aren’t you?!”

 

“I am!” Alain said quickly, his eyes were bouncing wildly now between the man-- his boss maybe?-- and Harry. Unfortunately, the gun was bouncing too as his grip shook even more.

 

“Calm down kid,” Renato said coldly, not even bothering to look away from the angry mafioso ordering Alain around. “You don’t have to shoot anyone on your grandmama’s doorstep.”

 

Alain flinched and actually fell back a step, raising the gun to the sky and looking over his shoulder at Mme. Nadia’s home. His friends avoided his eyes as they pretended to be watching the street, but he didn't seem to see them now anyway.

 

“It’s alright!” Harry stepped away from Renato before he could stop him, hands raised carefully. A bullet in the air was so much worse than one aimed at least somewhat parallel to the ground.

 

Alain jerked and dropped the gun to aim shakily at him. Harry froze and raised his hands slowly with a smile.

 

“It’s alright,” he repeated firmly. “You can shoot--”

 

“What the _fuck_ \--” Renato snarled behind him.

 

The mafioso with the gun whistled and called out. “Yeah, shoot him!”

 

Harry ignored them both and focused on Alain, who’d gone very pale.

 

“You can shoot, but you need to be calm, okay?” he said slowly. “I know you don’t want anyone else here to get hurt, right?”

 

“What?” Alain hissed.

 

“Your grandmother’s neighbors?” Harry gestured slowly to the houses beside them and across the canal. “ _Your_ neighbors? Your family grew up here, you probably know everyone on the block,” Harry guessed.

 

Alain was looking around at the walls, face stricken, and Harry knew that a lot of people were probably awake and listening, and Alain knew that too.

 

“I know this probably wasn’t your idea either,” Harry continued soothingly. “You would never want people you know put in danger like this, right?”

 

Alain stuttered and the gun went slightly skyward again. Harry sucked in a breath and took a slow step forward.

 

“I know that,” he said quickly. “You’re a really good boy, like Nadia says. But you have to stay calm, okay? And-- if you aren’t going to point the gun at me, please, _please_ point it at the ground.”

 

“What?” Alain looked at him funny, even as his eyes kept flitting around to all the windows on the street. “Why?”

 

“Because a stray bullet can travel pretty far,” Harry said soothingly. “And it comes back down at the same speed as you shoot it, so….”

 

Alain flinched, sending the sky an almost betrayed look, as if it was holding a gun pointed down. But he did lower the gun to point at the ground. Harry sighed in relief and smiled gently at Alain when he looked back down.

 

“Now, you really should go back inside to your nonni,” he said. “I’m sure she’s worried sick about you.” Harry glanced at Simone and Vincenzo. “You two as well, I know she won’t turn you away.”

 

“Che cazzo!” The man behind him yelled. “You’re treating the men of the Tomaso like naughty children!” He glared at Alain and his friends, who flinched. “And you weak-willed morons are letting him!”

 

“Wha-- No we’re not!” Alain cried. He had looked torn between taking Harry’s advise or staying, until his maybe-boss started mocking him. Now he raised the gun up to point at Harry again and strode quickly toward him.

 

Renato shifted closer to Harry, still facing the stranger with a gun, but clearly ready to fight Alain first if he had to. Harry put a hand on his back and pushed him toward the worse enemy.

 

“Don’t,” he said softly. “I’ll deal with the kids, you deal with that arse.”

 

Unfortunately, he wasn’t as quiet as he’d meant to be, and Alain had got closer than he’d thought.

 

“Kids?” Alain shrieked. “Is that what you think of us, you lying bastard!”

 

“What-- No!”

 

“Nice job,” Renato muttered under his breath before turning fully to the stranger. Harry winced, but focused on Alain and raised his hands again.

 

“Look, Alain--”

 

“Don’t you fucking _Alain_ me!” Alain snarled. He jerked the gun at Harry in a furious wave. “I let you into Nonni's home! Tried to help you get back on your feet, and all along you were with those trash Family’s dog!”

 

“What?” Harry said blankly. He really had no idea what kind of turf war was apparently going on with Alain’s mafia group and whoever Renato was with.

 

“Don’t fucking play dumb!”

 

“I...I really don’t know anything about mafia,” Harry said slowly. “And I _really_ only found out he was a mafioso today-- because of the job _you_ tried to get me to do!”

 

“The job _you_ fucking ruined so those Beccio bastards could get an edge over the Tomaso!”

 

“You left me at a damn table by myself with no instructions!” Harry waved a hand to the side, as if pointing at said table he’d been left at.

 

Alain raised his hands, gun and all, up in an exhasperated shrug. “I told you to watch for anyone in a brown hat and jacket! Any idiot could do that and get paid!”

 

“Lots of people wear brown hats and jackets!” Harry yelled and stomped up to Alain in his annoyance. He might have heard Renato hiss behind him, but nothing else. “What was I supposed to do afterwards-- pick them out from a photograph!”

 

“ _Yes_ , pirla!” Alain shouted in his face, gun now forgotten as anything more than an emphatic object to wave around.

 

“That’s a terrible plan!” Harry pressed a hand to his chest. “You don’t know me! I could have the worst memory for faces in the world!”

 

“Well do you?” Alain asked loudly as he waved the gun over Harry’s head in frustration.

 

“No, but that’s not the point!”

 

“What the fuck is the point then!” Alain was turning purple from shouting so much.

 

“I really need you to put the damn gun down!” Harry yelled at him. Then he kneed Alain in the groin, grabbed the arm with the gun, and twisted until he dropped it with a howl.

 

Simone and Vincenzo shouted out while Alain slid to the ground with a groan. Harry calmly picked up the gun and emptied the bullets. He put both gun and bullets in his pockets and looked down at Alain sadly. Simone ran up and held a gun up to his head and Harry just stared at him.

 

“Take him inside,” he said firmly. Simone flinched and took a step back. “And all of you bloody well stay there.”

 

“I can't believe you spineless trash,” the man behind him shouted. “You really aren't worthy to join the Tomaso! You bottom feeders are only fit to pickpocket and swindle in the gutters you came from!”

 

A loud bang cut off any more of his increasingly nasty tirade. Simone and the others all flinched and crouched to the ground. Harry looked back and saw the man off to the side, close to the buildings with a gash across half his face. Renato walked toward him steadily, gun held steady and a sharp grin barely visible from the side as he walked away from Harry.

 

“Looks like he really does have them handled,” he said with a purr. “Which means _you’re_ the only one I have to worry about.”

 

In an instant, Renato lunged forward and shot again. This time Harry saw the trail of the bullet shining like a ray of sunlight before exploding against the wall the stranger had been crouched next to. Unfortunately, the man had dodged in a tumble out into the street and started firing back.

Renato dodged and weaved gracefully as he sent his own bullets back, though none of them exploded now.

 

Harry stopped watching then, because some of the stranger's stay bullets were hitting perilously close to Alain and the others. He turned back toward where Simone was helping Alain up, though they both stayed low due to fear of being hit. Harry hurried over and grabbed Alain's other arm and, after a glance at Simone, they pulled him up together and ran for Vincenzo and the door to Nadia's house.

 

Vincenzo held the door until they were all through and slammed it closed behind them. The guns firing outside were only slightly quieter here, and they all had no more than a moment to listen to the bangs move a little farther away before Alain yanked his arm out of Harry's grip and stomped on his foot.

 

“Ow! What the hell!” Harry hopped away to lean against the wall while holding his aching foot. His boots were not the most protective pair he'd ever owned, hardly even worthy of the title of boots to begin with.

 

“You traitorous bastard!” Alain yelled. He turned to his friends. “Why the hell did you let him in here!”

 

“Uh,” Vincenzo looked vaguely sheepish as he realized he hadn't even thought to stop Harry from entering with his friends.

 

“You were heavy,” Simone said with a shrug. But he turned to Harry and pointed his gun at him with another shrug.

 

“Oh come on!”

 

“You deserve to get shot!” Alain said angrily. “You're on that filthy hitman dog's side! Our only chance to identify Beccio mules at the _only_ place we knew they'd be, and _you fucking ruined everything!_ ”

 

“Okay, first of all,” Harry said as he straightened and tested some weight on his sore toes, “if this job was so important, you shouldn't have had someone who didn't know what they were doing do it!”

 

Alain opened his mouth to argue, but Harry cut him off with a raised hand.

 

“And second of all! I didn't know Renato was a mafioso!”

 

“Please!” Alain scoffed. He waved a hand between Harry and the door, where they could all hear guns still going off and quite a bit of cursing now too. “You didn't know the bloody hitman of the Great Mafia War was part of the mafia?”

 

“The what?” Harry blinked. Mafia War? That sure hadn't been on the news. “Wait, hitman? Is he famous--?”

 

 _\--for killing people_ , Harry couldn't bring himself to say. Somehow the revelation that Renato was mafia, and that he _could_ have killed Harry on that job if they didn't know each other hadn't really translated into 'he actually kills people' in Harry's head.

 

“He's only like the most renowned hitman in the last decade!” Alain said with a sneer. “And he's the Vongola's favorite for-hire dog! Them and all their stinking, bastardo allies, like the Beccio!”

 

“Well,” Harry looked over at Vincenzo nodding and Simone shrugging, “I definitely did not know that.”

 

“Like I'd really believe--” Alain started angrily.

 

“Look, you wanna know what my job was before I went backpacking around the world?” Harry said loudly. He glared at Alain until he shut it and waited. “I was a policeman, alright?”

 

Alain and his friends all stared at Harry slack jawed.

 

Truthfully, Harry had been working at a car shop as a mechanic before he started his most recent country-hopping-hermit-holiday, but he'd been an auror for a good long while once upon a time. That was basically a police officer...with magic...but a copper all the same.

 

“Yeah,” Harry said dryly. “So trust me when I say that I had absolutely no idea Renato was mafia, and I have no blasted idea what's going on with mafia stuff either.”

 

“Y-you-you’re a fucking mole!” Alain yelled and pointed at him dramatically.

 

Harry frowned in annoyance and waved a hand. “No I'm not. That was a long time ago, and I am permanently retired.” He glared at Alain as he sputtered. “I am on holiday goddammit.”

 

“Is that why that crazy hitman is following you around?” Vincenzo asked in shock. “Are you his job?”

 

“His job?” Harry repeated blankly, and wasn't that a scary thought? But he hadn’t actually had a job in law enforcement in this world, and he had _no_ connection to crime beyond what was happening now. So surely no one in the mafia could have any reason to want him dead?

 

“I--I actually have no idea why he's been following me around,” Harry said slowly. There was the obvious reason he'd always assumed--of mutual attraction. It wasn't as if he hadn't had his share of hopeful stalkers before this after all. “We met a month or so ago, in Innsbruck.”

 

“At the Games?” Alain said incredulously. “Were you betting?”

 

“No,” Harry gave him a weird look. “I actually didn't get there until the Games were over. I don't really like crowds.”

 

Alain, Simone, and Vincenzo all traded vaguely helpless looks before going back to staring at Harry incredulously. He shrugged, more confused than ever. There was a brief pause in the gunfire outside and the sudden silence was strangely loud, ringing in his ears like church bells.

 

“Hey,” Harry looked around in sudden realisation. “Where's Mme. Nadia?”

 

Alain shifted guilty and slowly jerked his thumb toward the stairs.

 

“There's no way she'd just stay in her room while all this--” Harry gestured toward the door, just in time for a deep boom to rock the walls and shake dust out of the ceiling. They all stared when the gunfire started up again shortly after.

 

“...is going on,” Harry continued slowly.

 

“We drugged her wine,” Simone said.

 

“And she's still asleep?” Harry said surprised.

 

“...and we tired her to her chair,” Alain said, dread making each word come out quieter than the last.

 

“Oh.” Harry winced when what sounded like a wall collapsing shook the whole house, and possibly the whole street. “Yeah, that's probably safer for everyone.”

 

Alain nodded fearfully.

 

“This is really going on a lot longer than I thought it would though,” Harry said worriedly. “How do they both have so many bullets?”

 

“Oh, it's probably from the units sent as backup,” Alain said.

 

“Units…,” Harry's eyes widened and he strode over to the little window by the door and peeked out through the thin, crochet curtain. “Oh my god! Why didn't you say there were more people than just you?”

 

“It's called a trap, idiot,” Alain said, trying for arrogance but only managing to sound tired.

 

“Great,” Harry hissed when he saw that yes-- there were more than just two people out there with guns. Shit, he'd really left Renato to fend for himself with who knows how many assailants.

 

“Okay, you three are staying here,” Harry said as he turned to the door. “Watch over your grandmother--”

 

“What the fuck?” Alain said angrily. “You think we're just going to let you leave? And join up with that bastard hitman dog?”

 

“I have to help him,” Harry said sternly. “I'm the reason he's even here!”

 

“You don't even know him you said!” Alain waved wildly at the door. “You met like a month ago! He could be planning to kill you!”

 

“He's been nice to me,” Harry frowned thinking back on all their meetings and conversations. For a Mafioso, Renato had been wonderfully polite and charming-- even when Harry wasn’t. He looked up at Alain gaping at him. “Like you were,” he said softly.

 

Alain turned beet red in seconds and sputtered.

 

“You know, for a pig, you really are a crazy tourist,” Simone said, sounding almost impressed.

 

Harry smiled gently at them, they really were just children. “I _am_ a tourist,” he said before he turned back to the door. “Keep your grandmother safe, Alain! She's worries too much for you to get hurt now.”

 

Then he was outside, so he missed whatever it was Alain tried to call after him.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah...I started a new fic. But it wouldn't leave me alone! I had to! For sleep, and fic bunnies, and the KHR/HP crossover section!  
> Seriously though, I've been researching for this fic so hard, I've been dreaming about it! I may be losing my mind. Let's all hope I can at least get a couple more chapters out before my brain explodes...


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